


The Role Reversal

by QuarantineClean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24523261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuarantineClean/pseuds/QuarantineClean
Summary: Head Auror Harry Potter finds himself caught in a web of ambition, murder and hope. An enemy lurks in the shadow but help comes from unexpected quarters.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 76
Collections: Harry/Daphne





	1. A Bittersweet Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything under the same. Please do take a minute of your time to review. All feedback is welcome. Enjoy and stay safe!

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the same. Rated T for violence and language.

“For fuck’s sake!”

Ron Weasley cursed as he threw himself to the ground, allowing a jagged spear to whistle over his head. Back on his feet in a flash, he wordlessly threw a cutting curse at his foe's exposed back. He wasn’t surprised when the faint purple glint of a shield charm materialised right before the spell hit home. Ron wasn’t looking to land the final blow in this fight. He sidestepped his rebounding spell before rolling back the other way as a couple of iron chains snapped together in the spot he had just vacated.

“Merlin’s Beard, he’s gotten quicker.”

Beside him, Neville Longbottom was not faring much better. While Ron attempted to catch their opponent by surprise from behind, Neville conjured a mass of thorny vines, sending them snaking forward only for them to shift colour and drop harmlessly to the floor, the remnants of what looked suspiciously like confetti streamers.

As their foe straightened casually, Neville and Ron began to circle around towards each other. The palpable tension was broken by Ron trying his luck with an exploding spell, only for it to smash into a large glass shield, which shattered into a million shards, each of which screamed through the air at the circling wizards. They scrambled and broke into a sprint till they stood side by side. After fighting a war together, words and glances weren’t necessary to communicate in a fight. The duo launched a perfectly coordinated assault, a pair of nasty-looking purple curses spewing towards the dark-haired wizard.

“Aguamenti!”

The seasoned duellers couldn’t help but fall for it. They saw an opening and they took it. Their opponent had barely yelled out the spell when lightning sizzled forth from their wands, aiming to bring the duel to an end.

Harry smirked. They had reacted just as he predicted they would. After years of silent casting, Aurors and duellers couldn’t help but react instinctively to loud, audible incantations. As his left arm completed the wand motion to cast the water charm, the right hand darted forward and the water morphed into a wall of solid rock. The twin lightning bolts crashed harmlessly against the block of rock and it exploded outwards, raining boulders upon the surprised attackers. As they collapsed to the floor, a shrill whistle sounded and a smattering of polite applause went through the audience.

“Never fails to get old, does it?” said Ron, as he picked himself off the floor of the Auror Office Duelling Hall and offered Neville his hand.

“Bloody hell, Harry, keep it up and this lot aren’t gonna believe we were of much use in the War,” said Neville with a scowl before breaking into a wide grin. “How the hell do you seem to get faster with time, I barely even saw you move.”

Harry Potter shrugged nonchalantly. “If only the two of you quit ogling at your women throughout the week, you’d notice a great many things,” he said, a small smile on his thin lips. The trio turned to face their audience and bowed, before joining the gathering of spectators.

They spread out amongst the sea of people, nodding at acquaintances and greeting the bigwigs. It was the 8th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic had turned the day into an annual celebration of sorts, with a plethora of events to remember the fallen and acknowledge the progress the wizarding world had made since.

While people flocked around Ron and Neville, the crowd afforded Harry Potter more space than one would have expected. The three were well known in their own right but Ron and Neville were widely acknowledged as the more open and friendly survivors of the War. Harry Potter's reputation, on the other hand, preceded him.

While many had taken time to recover after Voldemort's fall, the Boy Who Lived had immediately taken up a post in the ailing Auror Office of the newly reinstated Ministry of Magic. Sharp and direct, he had been instrumental in rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, especially those who had managed to escape to foreign shores. His rise was meteoric, if predictable, and five years later, by the age of twenty-three, Harry Potter was the Head Auror, the youngest ever; and according to rumour, a shrewd businessman.

War changes people. There was no doubt that Harry Potter had changed, although the changes itself divided opinion. The public had grand hopes for the Head Auror, with many predicting a leading role in shaping the future of Wizarding Britain. Those close to him, however, believed he would never embrace such a fate, not after a decade of being in the spotlight.

Harry Potter adhered to neither.

In fact, few could have predicted what Harry Potter would become after the War. He no longer shied away from Ministry affairs and was a regular, if silent attendee at Wizengamot sessions. He was occasionally witnessed at balls and events for the cream society, events and gatherings which he would have given his right arm to avoid in his Hogwarts days. His raids threatened to pass into the realm of legend, as rumours swirled around his mounting body count.

What was even more unexpected was the slow but steady gap that opened between the erstwhile DA. There was no drama or scandal or public spat but Harry had drifted apart from his once indispensable circle. Many who claimed to have inside sources indicated there was no particular reason behind it, only that ‘Potter had become his own man'.

He was neither here nor there. Harry Potter was always in the public eye but at the same time, nobody really knew Harry Potter, not even those who could have once claimed to know him best.

* * *

Cyrus Greengrass liked to believe he was an intimidating man. Tall and well built with silver hair, a matching beard and piercing grey eyes, he was the typical pureblood male, a fact backed by the size and wealth of his business empire, which revolved around luxury fashion, cosmetics, and body care products amongst other things.

However, he had to admit that despite his immeasurable self-confidence and calm demeanour, he felt unusually uncertain at the moment. He turned to the couple next to him and said, “Are you sure you want to be here, Lucius?”

“No, he doesn’t,” said Narcissa. “Lucius, dear, don’t you think it would be more prudent to wait outside?”

Lucius Malfoy didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t look particularly miffed at being ordered out by his wife. If anything, he appeared to be in a hurry to get out of the Duelling Hall.

Cyrus Greengrass watched as Harry Potter strode through the crowd. The man did not seem to hold eye contact with anyone but there was no doubt that his vision missed nothing and nobody.

It did not ease Cyrus' anxiety, though he was careful to not show it. Abruptly, the approaching man froze for a second before walking towards them.

“Madam Malfoy,” he said.

“Head Auror,” replied Narcissa.

Harry Potter gave Narcissa a slight bow before kissing the offered hand.

“Lord Greengrass," said Potter, but before Cyrus could respond, he noticed that Potter was not looking at him. The cursory but formal greeting and especially the lack of attention that followed was slightly foreign to him. Potter's eyes were fixed on Narcissa Malfoy, who paused before beginning –

“I wanted to ask you for a –"

“Anything, Narcissa.”

Cyrus Greengrass was more than a little surprised, the abrupt switch to something akin to familiarity between the two speakers was not lost upon him. But then, Potter was the primary reason Lucius Malfoy had avoided Azkaban. While it was true that the Malfoys had fallen from grace, there were many who had been shocked by the apparent leniency, support even, that Harry Potter had shown them. To Cyrus, it was apparent then that there was more to it than what met the eye. Harry Potter did not deal in favours, especially without even knowing what was going to be asked of him.

Narcissa's expression did not change but she shot a grateful look at Potter before gesturing towards Cyrus.“Lord Greengrass here asked me to invite you to his humble home. At your convenience, of course.”

“And could Lord Greengrass not ask me himself,” came the slightly mocking response. Potter still did not bother to look at Cyrus Greengrass. “Well, our families joined in union recently, as I’m sure you’re aware...”

Potter knew what they were up to, Cyrus thought, as the Head Auror raised his eyebrows before smirking and inclining his head. “I believe congratulations are in order. I am happy for Draco.” Whatever reply Narcissa had on her lips was cut off as he pressed on, “If it is business that is to be discussed, perhaps we might drop into my office on the seventh floor. It would save the Lord some time.”

Loathe to remain a silent spectator any longer, it was Cyrus Greengrass who interjected, “You would honour us with your presence, Lord Potter. What I wish to discuss with you is of significance and importance.” It was as close to beseeching persistence as the pureblood Lord would stoop to.

Harry suppressed a scowl at the use of his formal title and finally locked eyes with the older man. There was no smile, no mocking look. He matched his blank gaze for a second before speaking. “I await your owl. I am at your disposal, Madam Malfoy.” A quick bow and a nod to the witch before he added, “Lord Greengrass.” Another perfunctory acknowledgement and Harry Potter was gone.

“You know Potter.” It wasn’t a question.

Narcissa looked at him before shaking her head, “No, I will not pretend that I do. But let us say he owes me a debt. A debt that is not easily repaid. Potter is a man of his word. He will come."

"Also, do yourself a favour, Cyrus, and avoid the formalities when you're talking to Potter. He doesn't find it very endearing."

Cyrus Greengrass was intrigued and a little offended. The wizarding world had changed but the dealings and politics of purebloods continued to be an intricate game of chess, a game of half-truths, of polite fronts and concealed disrespect. After decades of leading his family, he would hardly consider himself a novice, but he had to admit, Harry Potter had left no doubts as to who held the cards in this particular game.

* * *

_“I’m warning you, Potter, one step further and she dies," the hooded figure cackled, holding a gleaming silver knife to the pale, trembling throat of the young woman pulled up against him, his freehand pointing a wand at the black-robed Auror._

_For the umpteenth time, Harry Potter mentally cursed the Death Eaters. Not only for their remarkable durability and refusal to die out but also for their utter lack of imagination. His grip on the holly wand, held in his left hand tightened. “Let her go Selwyn and we can negotiate, there is no need-“_

_Mid-sentence, he struck. With a wave of his empty hand, he sent a bone-breaking curse at the Death Eater, who threw up a shield charm, never noticing the holly wand pointed right between his eyes._

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

_There was a flash, a rush of wind and Selwyn's eyes widened before his hastily erected shield disintegrated and the green burst struck him straight in the face. His lifeless form dropped to the stone floor, while his captive collapsed as well, before curling up into a ball and crying softly._

_Harry Potter turned to the corpse and flipped the body over with his toe, hiding the face from the distressed woman._

_“It's all right Miss Greengrass, you're quite safe now."_

“Oi mate”

Harry’s eyes snapped open as the door burst open. He wearily dragged his feet off the table before burying his head in his hands. The table was littered with papers, files and photographs. The Ministry did not hold back from providing everything necessary to the senior Aurors and while the office was untidy, it was certainly comfortable. Large boards with crossed-out names and maps hung on the walls, while two plush cushioned chairs rested in front of the desk, one of which was currently occupied by ex-Auror Ron Weasley.

“I know it’s the anniversary of our victory but do we really have to parade ourselves for the entertainment of politicians and ministers?" Ron grumbled.

“The people look up to us Ron, we have no choice. This world needs us to be their leaders.”

His friend scoffed, “needs you to be their leader, you mean. Piss off Harry, we did our bit, didn’t we? We played our part.”

It was one of the main reasons Ron had left the Auror department. The war survivor had seen enough of bloodshed. Despite their young years, most of the resistance had had their share of action. Ron was no different. After his premature exit from the Ministry, he returned to the Wizard Wheezes, where he aided George in research and development, avoiding interaction with the regular customers unless absolutely necessary. 

Harry stated into space, before replying, “this world needs us more than ever now Ron," drawing another scoff from his old partner. 

The change that had overcome the wizarding world was not absolute. Tradition is not so easily broken. The sacred twenty-eight still controlled the majority of decision making power in the Wizengamot and the Ministry. The mind-set and attitude might have shifted but the machinery and players remained the same. There were always many in the mould of the Lucius Malfoys and Yaxleys of old, waiting in the shadows, eyes watching for the first opening where they could push forth their agenda.

Nonetheless, the Hogwarts class of 1998 had melted into the background. Neville Longbottom had become the youngest Herbology Professor in Hogwarts history. Hermione Granger had gone through the gruelling training to become a healer of the highest order. The Patil twins had moved back to India while Seamus Finnigan had crossed the ocean to the Americas. Whether it was Luna Lovegood selling her beloved Quibbler to become a freelance writer or Cho Chang establishing her very own apothecary, most of the infamous batch had chosen to distance themselves from the Ministry. Most, except Harry Potter.

They would never truly see eye to eye on this matter, thought Harry sadly. A change of topic was at hand, he decided. 

“How’s Ginny?”

“Happy," came the curt response. Ron hesitated for a moment. “She’s the top scorer in the league,” he said with a hint of pride.

“No surprise there," Harry muttered. No. He couldn’t let his mind drift there again. “Well Ron, I better get back to work. Is Hermione still on for Sunday?”

Ron recognised a dismissal when he heard one. “Sure Harry, she’s already put in extra hours over the week to make sure she’s available.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it. Give her my love will you," said Harry absent-mindedly, shuffling through a set of documents. 

“See you around mate,” and with a small shake of his head, Ron was gone. Harry stared at the papers for another second before throwing them aside, jumping out of his seat and walking aimlessly around his office. 

The fiasco with Ginny had not helped his relationship with Ron. It was by no means the main cause for the distance between the two but it had contributed. The separation had not been scandalous but it was not a clean break either. Nonetheless, it had worked out for the best. Ginny was a celebrity, England’s finest chaser and on course to be awarded the captaincy of the team very soon. Her dating life was the talk of the town AND the prophet naturally.

Harry, on the other hand, kept his personal life far beyond the reach of the paparazzi. Sure, he got around once in a while, but nothing more than the occasional fling while under disguise. Short and fleeting. 

Sometimes he wondered why he never got into a stable relationship again. He always arrived at the same conclusion. Women he was familiar with, from the past, still carried the same baggage he did. They were all damaged, no longer whole, a heavy weight on their hearts and minds that nothing could ever truly lift. Eight years of peace could not heal the wounds of over a decade of darkness. The unfamiliar, new women he came across were a more straightforward explanation. They saw the Head Auror, the Boy Who Won, not Harry Potter, the man who had no real friends, who had no family and was alone in his own head. 

Dragging his attention back to the problems at hand, he opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a bottle of Japanese gin. Over the years, his choices of intoxication had grown increasingly muggle. He poured out a glass and threw it down his throat, before heading out to his next appointment. 

* * *

“He’s got eyes at the back of his fucking head, that’s what it is.”

“Confetti? Really? The look on Longbottom's face was priceless.”

“I still don’t think any of them were trying particularly hard.”

The Conference Room of the Auror Office was buzzing, as they dissected and discussed the morning duel. A hush fell upon the seated wizards and witches when the door swung open and Harry Potter walked in.

“Wicked moves boss, never thought you’d let us down," chirped Rose Rowle, a short red-haired witch seated at the very front. 

“Stop gloating Rowle or I’ll be forced to take my cut off your winnings," Harry deadpanned, as the entire room chuckled appreciatively. Rowle had the courtesy to look abashed before grinning at her boss. Betting on Harry Potter in a duel was the safest bet in the country and despite the Ministry restrictions, transactions between the employees were rampant. 

“Alright, so Selwyn is off the charts," Harry crossed the name off a chart with a lazy flick of his wand. There were 20 or so names on the list, all struck through. A solitary blank remained, next to which a few question marks were scribbled. 

“I do not believe Selwyn was working alone. These last few attacks have not been the work of desperate madmen. A certain degree of organization and planning was present. However, I do believe only the kingpin remains. Any guesses why?”

It was Adrain Pucey, the oldest member of his admittedly young team, who responded.  
“Whoever the boss is, sent one man to do a team’s job. If there were more remaining members, we would have found them there.”

“Correct Pucey. I don’t think Selwyn was expendable either. Our man does not have the luxury of wasting his already strained resources. Right, you lot, get to work. I want you to work on Selwyn. Get snooping, see who he spoke to, where he was, what he did.”  
His team stared back at him. He thought he heard someone mutter, “but it’s the anniversary…”

“I know it’s the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Stephen. I fucking ended it. I need this information and I need it two hours ago, now MOVE.” He allowed himself a smile as the occupants nearly stumbled over each other as they bolted from the room. 

“I don’t think I ever saw people flee Severus that quickly.” 

The attacks first began a year ago. At first, the Magical Law Enforcement's Hitwizard team was the first point on the case. Every month or so, a report would come in of a random kidnapping, followed by an anonymous ransom demand. The families of the first four victims paid up, arriving at the directed location with large sums of money, only to be confronted by hooded figures who would slash the throats of their victims in front of their very eyes. After six months of bungled operations, failed arrests and no progress, Kingsley had roped in Harry Potter. 

The turn of the tide was instantaneous. The Auror Department foiled the attempted murders of the next five victims. The younger Greengrass daughter was number ten. 

For all their accomplishments, Harry and his team had been unable to take any of the criminals alive. It seemed to be a common theme across all the operations that the kidnappers chose to go down fighting. Insider reports also indicated that the Head Auror seemed to be in no mood to capture and question the offenders either. Indeed, five of them had fallen at his own hands. In spite of the lack of conclusive answers, the frequency of the kidnappings grew rarer and the number of criminals involved in each incident continued to fall too, culminating in Selwyn’s solo stand against Harry Potter a few weeks ago. 

He was so close, thought Harry, as he stared at the board. For months, he had brooded over the list of victims and the criminals who had abducted them while he searched for a pattern. The victims invariably belonged to pureblood houses - families with wealth and money. The violators, on the other hand, were a strange mix of distant Death Eater relations and mercenaries – individuals linked to the Notts, the Mulcibers, the Yaxleys and others. Why even Karkaroff's half brother had been killed in one of the raids. All the Death Eaters were dead or slowly losing their minds in Azkaban, from where no breakouts had been reported since the War ended.

The mystery was, who was driving them? Who was the lynchpin?

* * *

“I hear your saviour will be joining father for dinner tonight.”

“Oh joy, let’s hope he doesn’t kill Draco, shall we? I’m not quite ready to move on yet.”

Daphne Greengrass grimaced as she fixed her long, silky, black hair Despite being assured the contrary, Britain and her own household had clearly failed to move on from their obsession with the Boy Who Lived.

“For all I know, you’d try to fuck his brains out the minute Malfoy hits the floor. I miss France. The only people they obsess over are chefs and their pretentious architects,” she complained morosely. 

“Coming from someone who hasn’t gotten laid or married in years, that’s rich. Really rich,” bit back Astoria. “You’ll be back in Marseille in a few weeks anyway, so quit your whining, sister dearest.”

For what felt like the hundredth time in a week, Daphne acknowledged how much she loved certain aspects of her job. She glowered at the willowy form of her retreating sister before snapping. “Astoria, do I really have to? He might not even know I’m in the country. Fuck it, he might even have forgotten I exist. “

It was wishful thinking, but the taste of the season changed quickly. The last time she was at one of her father’s parties, it felt like almost half the guests didn’t recognise her anymore. 

“It’s Harry Potter, do you really believe he won’t be aware of the British envoy's presence? Merlin, he probably knew the minute your portkey arrived.”

The Deputy Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was a prestigious post. The pay was extremely satisfactory, not that it mattered to a Greengrass. It allowed her to travel the world and make some extremely useful connections with some extremely important people. Most importantly, it had allowed her to leave the country almost unnoticed after her incident at the Battle of Hogwarts.

Satisfied with her preparation, she looked herself over in the high, gold-rimmed mirror. Daphne Greengrass was beautiful. While she did not share her younger sister's model-like slim figure, everything about Daphne was stunning but simultaneously and against all odds, comforting.

Her navy blue evening gown left just enough to the imagination. With her carelessly elegant, sleek hair falling over her shoulders and high, hollow cheekbones, she was the archetype for the Pureblood heiress. If anything, her radiant face, which often wore a pleasantly laidback expression, looked ever so slightly out of place when compared to the effortless arrogance that most pureblood ladies were so adept at pulling off.

Her most striking feature, however, was her twinkling, sky blue eyes. Over the years she’d received and ignored numerous compliments about the warmth and genuine life, whatever that meant, one could see in her eyes. Her colleagues and counterparts in the French Ministry swore that one would be hard-pressed to come across a more eager, attentive and open-minded listener than Daphne Greengrass. 

_“Shows you how much people know.”_

“Windows to the soul indeed,” she sneered bitterly as she waved her wand over her face, setting the illusion firmly in place.

* * *

At that very moment, Harry Potter was pacing about his flat in Knightsbridge, pouring over the Greengrass family files he’d picked up at work. Choosing to reside in Muggle London had been an easy decision. It gave him a false sense of security and separation from his hectic professional life. With his financial resources, arranging accommodation in the upscale London residential area had been no trouble, although the insides of his home did not reflect the extravagance of the neighbourhood.

His reading complete, he changed into a pair of Madam Malkin's finest dress robes, black with a fine golden lining. Perhaps a tad extra but the occasion probably called for it, he thought dispassionately. After growing up in Dudley's roomy 'hand me downs', Harry had been more than happy to expand his wardrobe with something more suitable once the War had ended. It had surprised his friends to see the same boy who couldn’t care less about what he wore at Hogwarts, walk to the finest tailors and leave with sets of dress robes. He’d enjoyed himself though. 

“Here we go again,” thought Harry apprehensively. His sense of dressing and style might have changed but despite popular opinion indicating otherwise, he still detested the social gatherings and balls he had little choice but to attend. As Head Auror, there were certain responsibilities there was no turning his back upon. Still, the rigid uprightness of the pureblood families made him feel curiously insignificant and quite irritable. 

Tonight, he had no choice. He was surprised it had taken Cyrus Greengrass this long to reach out to him after he had saved the business tycoon's daughter. His instincts, however, told him there was more at stake here. A simple ‘thank you’ could have been made in public and in person. This display of gratitude did not necessarily call for a dinner invitation or the involvement of Narcissa Malfoy. Greengrass had ensured Harry would have no choice but to show up. 

Well, two could play at this game. His research into the Greengrass family had not been without reward. He composed himself before giving himself a final look over and reached for the doorknob when –

A ball of light sped in through the french window. The white orb hung in the air for a moment before taking on the shape of a pointy-eared Lynx. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt was an unshakeable man. Nothing seemed to break through the composure of the Minister of Magic. Hence, Harry was surprised to hear the weak and more importantly, the urgent tone of his old friend’s voice. 

“Harry, hurry. Your godson needs you.” 

He was gone before the patronus could fade.

* * *

Fiendfyre.

There was no doubt about it, the stench of the dark curse was unmistakable. He was in a nightmare. Or revisiting one. Surely he’d been here before. The scene was unnervingly familiar to a by-gone era. His head swam as memories flashed before his eyes.

_Hagrid's wounded form. Hedwig falling through the night sky. The Diadem whispering to him in the Room of Requirement._

The old Order of the Phoenix safe house was ablaze. The yells of Aurors and hitwizards cut through the crackling of the flames. People were running but Harry walked forward slowly, in a trance. His magic reached out desperately and he sensed the boy’s presence.

Teddy Lupin was safe. 

He reached the edge of the burning house where a small crowd had gathered. Harry numbly registered a young boy crashing into him, his small hands digging painfully into his stomach as his little head buried itself into him.  
  
He didn’t hear the wizards call out his name. He didn’t feel his arm wrap around the boy. As the crowd parted and Harry Potter gazed at the corpse, he didn’t feel anything at all. 

Andromeda Tonks was beautiful in death. Her stormy grey eyes were wide open and unblinking. The resemblance to her dead sister was striking. The curly dark hair covered her face but he did not need a further inspection to tell that her throat had been slit.

As the blood roared in his ears, he felt another crack in his chest. He’d felt it before. He’d hoped with all his that he’d never feel it again. Finally acknowledging the ghostly gleam around the house, Harry forced his eyes to the night sky. 

The serpent and the skull. The Dark Mark. 

He knelt down beside the distraught child and pulled him closer, as he closed his eyes and let the smiling face of Andromeda Tonks fill his mind, watching him proudly as he carried baby Teddy on his shoulders.

“Expecto Patronum.”

It was only a whisper but the Stag burst forth from his wand before galloping into the sky, shining brighter than any star could. It charged headfirst into the Dark Mark, which dissolved slowly until it was nothing more than a poisonous green wisp in the wind. 

“Happy Anniversary, Harry,” he ground out before reaching out and pulling the eyelids down over Andromeda's glassy eyes. 

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Constructive feedback is always welcome. Stay healthy and safe!**


	2. More Questions and a Clue

**Three days later..**

  
“Uncle Harry, it makes my ears pop!”

  
“Try yawning Teddy, that should do the trick,” replied Harry as he stepped past the wards into a charming little garden. His godson was still getting accustomed to the sensation of apparition. The front door swung open as they approached, to reveal an anxious-looking Hermione Granger. 

  
“Good morning Teddy,” she beamed down at him before offering her hand for a fist bump.

  
“He's trying to yawn.” Harry deadpanned in response to Hermione’s confused look while the boy continued to hang his mouth open.   
Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled Harry into a quick hug. “You look exhausted Harry,” she remarked, leading them into the kitchen.   
“Teddy and I spent the night at the office. I haven’t been home since the burial.”

  
Andromeda had been laid to rest the previous day. They’d buried her at the War Memorial, next to Remus and Tonks. Hagrid and McGonagall were present while Charlie, Bill and Fleur had portkeyed in from France to join the Weasley clan. Ginny had been unable to leave the National Team camp in Italy and Kingsley Shacklebolt was a surprise absentee as well. Harry had decided against inviting Narcissa Malfoy, a choice he was certain he would have to explain in the near future. In fact, Narcissa had yet to be officially informed of her sister's death. 

  
It was a quiet affair. Andromeda's murder hadn’t come to the public eye as the newspapers hadn’t been given a briefing. Still, a dull pain gnawed at Harry's heart. Andromeda had been one of his last links to the original Order of the Phoenix. To Sirius. He was no stranger to death. None of the survivors were. Nonetheless, with the wizarding world at peace and Andromeda's low-profile lifestyle, her passing had come as a shock.

  
Life had not been kind to Andromeda. Banished by her family, she’d watched her husband and daughter fall in the War. But Andromeda’s kindness had endured. She did a magnificent job of raising Teddy, providing him with a loving and happy childhood. She’d been there for Harry too. After his breakup with Ginny, he devoted his little free time to Teddy. Andromeda had been proud of him for it. A keen listener who offered little but gentle advice, she’d given him an unbiased perspective that his friends could not.

  
Harry’s retrospection was interrupted by Ron entering the kitchen. He nodded at Harry before grinning at Teddy. “Hello, young man! I left Krum's book for you in the hall. Do you want to go read it?”

  
Teddy nodded happily, gave Ron a quick hug and bolted from the room. Teddy was an avid Quidditch fan. Harry often joked that the only reason the boy was anticipating going to Hogwarts was to try the new brooms his godfather had recently donated to the school.

  
“That’s a great deal better than pushing him towards the Cannons.” The Chudley Cannons were still hopeless, although they were locked in negotiations with Ginny over a transfer that would probably bring about a change in their fortunes.

  
Ron gave his girlfriend a kiss and sat down at the table. They’d been living together for over a year now. Mrs. Weasley had not been thrilled at the idea of not having any of her children live at the Burrow any more but Ron was insistent. Their new home was quite different from the eccentric Weasley house. Lacking in any of the Burrow’s quirks and surprises, it had a distinct muggle feel to it. 

  
Ron piled a stack of pancakes onto his plate and jumped straight into the issue at hand. “Any progress?”

  
Harry shook his head. He’d been working continuously since the murder but there was precious little to go on.  
“I think it’s linked to my current case. All the victims so far showed up with their throats slit. Selwyn had a knife to Astoria Greengrass' throat too.”

  
“What about the Dark Mark, Harry? I thought the Ministry had rounded up all the remaining Death Eaters,” Ron interjected.

  
“It’s got to be someone from the past. Only the Death Eaters knew how to cast the Mark. I’ll probably go back to the house and take another look soon.”

  
“Someone from the War is definitely involved,” Hermione agreed. “All the remaining Order member residences are protected by the older wards too, aren’t they?”  
It had been Hermione’s idea to add an extra layer of protective enchantments to the houses. New security measures and spells had been developed since the end of the War. Her thinking behind the suggestion was that the older enchantments would provide a barrier unfamiliar to the new wave of lawbreakers.

  
“It makes no sense,” Harry muttered. “Whoever did this clearly took their time with her. It would have been so much simpler to use the killing curse. The cut on her throat wasn’t magical. And why Andromeda in the first place? If they wanted to send me a message, they’d have finished Teddy too.”

  
“When’s the final report coming through?” asked Ron.

  
“Tomorrow, I guess. Kingsley left me a note saying he wanted to take a look at it before we let it go public.”

  
“Speaking of Kingsley,” said Hermione. “What’s up with him? He left the Anniversary celebrations prematurely as well. Then he doesn’t show up at the funeral.”

  
Harry considered telling them but decided to hold his tongue. It wasn’t time yet and Kingsley couldn’t afford to let the news slip out.   
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, that isn’t why I’m here. It’s Teddy.”

  
“He still has a couple of years before he starts at Hogwarts. I'd love to keep him and I really want to but I don’t know if he’ll be okay with it. I'm at work through the week, nine hours a day. A couple of days a week is fine but I can’t take him to the office on the regular.”

  
He noticed Hermione look at Ron, who nodded before speaking. “Harry mate, we've been thinking. There is loads of space at the Burrow. Dad's retired and Mum has loads of time on her hands now that everyone’s moved out.”

  
Harry opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Hermione. “There’s another option. Ron and I could keep him. Just until he starts at Hogwarts, that is. He can spend the day at the shop with Ron and George. St. Mungo's has a special area where the nurses and doctors can keep their kids too.”

  
It seemed like the right thing to do. Andromeda had exerted a certain amount of Muggle influence and teaching on Teddy. Hermione would be able to make him feel at home, while he'd certainly have fun fooling around with George at the joke shop. 

  
“As much as I like the sound of that, there’s a third choice,” began Harry slowly. “Andromeda was not Teddy's last living relative.”

  
The couple looked confused for a second before exclaiming together, “NO WAY, HARRY!”

  
“I know, I know. I don’t think it’s a viable solution either but I am legally bound to ask Madam Malfoy if she wants custody of the child.”

  
Ron was heated. “If you think I’m going to leave Remus' son in the hands of a Mal-“

  
“Sit down Ron. I’ll try to talk her out of it. Narcissa isn’t unreasonable. For all we know, she might not even want him,” snapped Harry.

  
“I wasn’t aware the two of you were on a first-name basis,” Ron muttered darkly before chuckling. “Draco’s probably gonna have a pesky little git for a child soon. I imagine she'll have her hands fu-ouch! Sorry, Hermione.” 

  
“Stop your bickering, you two. I’m meeting with Cyrus Greengrass tonight so I’ll call on Narcissa tomorrow,” Harry interrupted. “I should get going, I promised Teddy I’d take him to Fortescu's after we were done here.”

  
Hermione’s face softened. She looked back to see if Teddy was out of earshot before asking, “how’s he taking it?”

  
Harry shook his head sadly. “He was terrified for a while. Recovered quickly though. He’s known death since he was baby too. I’m going to let him choose for himself. He’ll have the final say on his future.”

* * *

  
Harry walked through the downpour towards the massive, white manor. He reached the grand flight of marble stairs leading up to the door when he noticed the old house-elf standing outside.

  
“Good evening, Mr. Potter. Master Greengrass awaits you in his study,” the elf bowed and opened the doors to allow the soaked wizard to enter. Harry waved a careless hand over his attire, which dried and smoothened immediately. 

  
The interiors reminded him of the opulence of muggle luxury hotels. His shoes squeaked as he walked across the gleaming marble floor. The high walls were mounted with portraits and paintings, many of which were unmoving. A variety of statues and sculptures, bathed in soft, yellow light lined the corridors.

  
Harry couldn’t help but feel slightly on edge. The manor was dead silent and despite the warm and impressive appearance, it felt empty and lifeless. “Well, at least Greengrass has better taste in decor than Lucius and his idiotic peacocks,” he thought to himself. There was numerous muggle made artefacts and pieces around the house, each more expensive than the last one.

  
As the old elf lead him through the corridors, Harry slowly reached out with his magic. There were four people in the house, one of whom he was familiar with. He wondered how his old rival would react, now that Harry had gone one step further and saved his wife's life too.

  
They finally stopped in front of a large mahogany door. “Please enter, Mister Potter. You are expected.”

  
Harry nodded at the elf, who was clearly prior informed of Harry’s disdain for overbearing formalities. It was a welcome gesture, he acknowledged. The Greengrass study was similar to the one in the Black family home at Grimmauld Place. A wool carpet spread across the floor, ancient-looking books in glass cupboards and a large desk. There were four plush looking armchairs in the room, three of which were already occupied.

“Lord Greengrass,” Harry bowed before turning to the woman and kissing the offered hand. “Mrs. Malfoy, a pleasure.”

  
The third figure, however, remained seated and refused to meet Harry’s amused look

.   
“Good evening, Draco. My heartiest congratulations. You look great together.”

  
It was true. Draco and Astroria made a striking couple. Tall, pale and proud, they carried themselves with the same regal confidence many had seen in the senior Malfoy couple before the War. 

  
Harry wasn’t particularly glad to see Draco but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun at his old rival’s expense. Draco did look slightly uncomfortable but he rose to his feet and gave Harry a stiff nod.

  
“I appreciate it, Potter. Nice wandwork at the Celebrations. It’s heartening to see that our security is in able hands.”

  
There it was. Despite being humbled, Draco could never pass up the opportunity to take a well-directed taunt. Harry smiled tightly. He’d have loved nothing more than to dump the cocky Death Eater in Azkaban but sparing the life of Draco Malfoy in return for the cooperation and testimony of the Malfoys had been an easy choice.

  
“Thank you, Draco. I try,” he ground out before turning to Astoria Greengrass. “It's good to see you in high spirits. I hope you’ve recovered from your ordeal?” he inquired politely.

  
The slender witch seemed truly grateful as she smiled at Harry. “I have, Mr. Potter and I thank you once more. I did not hold much hope for myself before you showed up.”

  
He scanned her features for any sign of insincerity and found none. “It was nothing. The Auror Office is always happy to serve. I apologise, Mrs. Malfoy, but I must ask. Is there anything else you wish to tell me about the incident. Anything of note would go a long way in helping us get to the bottom of the unpleasant incident.”  
“Please, call me Astoria. I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter. I blacked out after Selwyn fed me a potion. I haven’t left anything out of the statement I gave the Auror Office earlier. However, I would be glad to answer any queries you might have in the future.”

  
Harry didn’t miss the look she shot at her father. The couple stood up and walked to the door. “We really must get going,” she apologised as she bid them goodnight. Draco hesitated for a moment before turning to Harry.

  
“My family thanks you, Potter.”

  
As displays of gratitude go, it wasn’t much. But coming from Draco, it was the best he would get, decided Harry as the door swung shut.

  
He turned his attention to Cyrus Greengrass, who hadn’t spoken a word since Harry had arrived. The old man was watching him speculatively, assessing him. Whatever conclusions Cyrus arrived at, he kept to himself.

  
“My condolences. I am sorry for your loss. Andromeda Tonks was a good woman.”

  
Harry hadn’t expected that. The man definitely had excellent sources in the Ministry. The murder was still classified information.

  
“Thank you. I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted.”

  
“Not personally. I was more familiar with her late sister.”

  
Another surprise. Harry's research had uncovered contact between numerous Death Eaters and the Greengrass family but he hadn’t thought the man would be so bluntly honest in his admission.

  
Cyrus noticed the raised eyebrows and sighed. “Never for a minute did I think you would walk in here unprepared, Mr. Potter. I have nothing to hide.”

  
“Your file made for interesting reading, Lord Greengrass. Especially for a family that claimed to be neutral.” He left the last word hanging.

  
Cyrus walked over to a glass shelf and pulled out a bottle of oak matured mead. “One of Rosmerta's oldest bottles. This particular topic of discussion calls for it.”  
While he watched his host pour out the golden liquid, Harry felt a sudden intrusion at the study door. He closed his eyes and let his magic run free and registered a foreign presence immediately. Someone was eavesdropping! He looked around before surreptitiously pointing his hand at the door and casting the Muffliato charm. To his relief, Cyrus Greengrass was too preoccupied to notice.

  
“The world is not black and white, as you of all people must be aware,” Cyrus began. “My family paid a heavy price for our refusal to back the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord’s offers of friendship could not be simply pushed aside.”

  
“I do not doubt your sacrifices. I offer you my condolences as well. The Lady Greengrass must have been a woman of exceptional character.”

  
Cyrus' eyes narrowed as he tensed imperceptibly. For a moment, Harry wondered if he’d overstepped his boundaries. The reason for the death of Elena Greengrass, he imagined, was something Cyrus Greengrass had managed to keep under wraps. It might have been rude but he’d made his point. The pureblood Lord wasn’t the only one in the room with exceptional sources.

  
“Your reputation for directness is well earned,” declared Cyrus coldly. “You do me a great disservice, Mr. Potter. I admit that I played both sides in the War, but please do not pretend like I did nothing to support your cause.”

  
Harry couldn’t deny that. The Greengrass family had tread a dangerous path during the two Wars against the Dark Lord. Despite some questionable dealings, Cyrus Greengrass had covertly supported the resistance whenever he could. A decision which had apparently come at the cost of his wife's life.

  
“My apologies, Lord Greengrass. It is part of my job to be suspicious but I appreciate your honesty. Your business dealings in the muggle world have caught my eye. And my respect.”

  
The old man relaxed noticeably. “Think nothing of it. Those were dark times for us all. We all made sacrifices.”   
Cyrus seemed more than happy to discuss his business ventures. “I do not claim to understand muggles. But for all their flaws, they are astute businessmen. I have dealt with them more often than you would expect.”

  
Harry frowned. It was almost as though Cyrus was making a point to him by highlighting his acceptance of the muggle world.

  
“This is no courtesy call, is it, Lord Greengrass?”

  
The old man seemed to gather his strength before speaking. “No, it is not. I invited you here to appeal for your support, Mr. Potter. But allow me to help you first, as a gesture of my goodwill.”

  
He walked over to his desk and pulled out a photograph from the drawer. “Andromeda Tonks was in our Diagon Alley store last weekend,” he began as he handed Harry the picture. “I have modified cameras in all my establishments. A trick I borrowed from the muggles. A man followed her in but didn’t buy a thing. I double-checked with the staff on duty. He left the minute she was done.”

  
Harry stared at the photograph. The mystery man was dressed in what appeared to be a hitwizard uniform. Though his head was partially hidden by a hood, Harry could make out a shock of blonde hair at the front and a prominent nose. The man appeared familiar but he wasn’t able to put a finger on who it was. It wasn’t a concrete lead but it was all he had to work with. The Auror Office would clear up the identity of the mystery man soon enough.

  
“This could prove to be invaluable,” he thanked Cyrus. It was a little too convenient. Lord Greengrass had clearly been working hard during the build-up to this meeting. First the news of the murder and now a piece of evidence. “How may I repay you?” Harry asked although a nasty suspicion was already beginning to form in his mind.

  
“I’m surprised you haven’t guessed already. I plan on making my move soon. Perhaps in a month or two,” Cyrus began casually. “I want you to support my bid for Minister of Magic, of course.”

  
Harry didn’t even bother trying to hide his shock. He’d been suspecting it at the back of his head but he hadn’t truly expected the man to actually be so straightforward about it. “There’s no way he knows. It’s impossible,” he thought desperately.

  
“Kingsley Shacklebolt is-“

  
“Dying!” Cyrus spat sharply. “You disappoint me with this act of yours, Mr. Potter.”

  
“You have sources I’m not aware of,” Harry replied softly. He had grossly underestimated the man sitting in front of him.

  
“It’s all here,” Cyrus tapped his head. “The Minister has been taking time off work every week for a month now. His absence at the Anniversary Celebrations confirmed my suspicions. Do not take me for a fool, Mr. Potter. I’m certain it won’t be long before the other pureblood families put the pieces together. Dolohov certainly pulled a number on Lord Shacklebolt all those years ago.”

  
Even in his shocked state, Harry had to appreciate the man's cunning. He’d put two and two together perfectly. It had happened at the battle in the Department of Mysteries, ten years ago. Antonin Dolohov has taken advantage of Kingsley’s battle with Bellatrix Lestrange and hit him in the back with the ancient blood curse. The slow onset of the spell had revealed itself recently. Kingsley was unmarried and had no children. The curse, which was designed to end the family line of the victim had acted on the last living member of the bloodline – Kingsley himself. He’d informed Harry two months ago and requested him to reveal the diagnosis to no one. Not even Ron and Hermione.

  
The Ministry was not as strong as it appeared. Most of the old leaders were dead. There was a dearth of experience and strength in the new generation of aspirants. With the situation of the muggle world growing increasingly perilous by the day, wizarding Britain was fast approaching a crossroads.

  
“How are you so sure I don’t have aspirations for the post myself?” Harry didn’t confirm or deny Cyrus' suspicions about Kingsley.

  
The man almost snorted. “Mr. Potter, if you really wish to become the Minister of Magic, this conversation and indeed anything I say to you will be inconsequential. You are the most popular wizard to have walked these lands in centuries. The Ministry could hold elections tomorrow and you’d win by a landslide. However, assuming you do harbour such ambitions, are you confident in your ability to lead us?”

  
Harry wasn’t. The Minister of Magic post required the candidate to be a master of all trades. Being magically powerful wasn’t enough if you couldn’t wield the soft power of diplomacy. It took experience, wisdom and a shrewd mind to balance the multiple powers at play. The wizarding world and the muggle world. Pureblood elitists and half-bloods. The Ministry of Magic and foreign ministries.

It was one of the reasons Kingsley had been so overwhelmingly successful. He was a powerful wizard with experience of war yet a calm diplomat. He was a pureblood but could blend seamlessly into the muggle world. The more Harry thought about it, there wasn’t a single name capable of inspiring confidence that sprung to mind. 

  
He could see why Cyrus Greengrass thought it was a good idea to aim for the most coveted job in Wizarding Britain. The purebloods respected him. His business holdings in the muggle world indicated that he wasn’t a novice when it came to dealing with non-magical folk. The lack of political experience could be a stumbling block but there had been naïve yet successful Ministers before. And after balancing his allegiance through the Wars and the ruthless pureblood society, Cyrus Greengrass was anything but naïve.

  
Harry contemplated his options. “You make some valid points, Lord Greengrass,” he admitted. “However, I cannot give you a concrete response immediately. I must mull things over. I’m sure you understand.”

  
“Take your time, Mr. Potter. All I ask is that you approach my request with an open mind. In the meantime, can I count on you to keep our discussion to yourself?”  
Cyrus Greengrass was placing a lot of faith in him, Harry realized. He had the power to ruin the man's business and reputation beyond repair by going public with this information.

  
“You have my word. I cannot promise you a timeframe but Kingsley Shacklebolt is a fighter. Time may not be as short as you believe it is.”

* * *

  
“All men are pigs,” thought Daphne Greengrass savagely, pacing around the garden. Potter and her father had been locked up for over an hour and here she was, none the wiser about their discussion.

  
Her frustration at the general male population was exaggerated. She had no beef with men, especially the charming Paris ones with their impeccable manners. Maybe just men with a penchant for paranoia and excessive secrecy, she amended. Daphne was still perplexed at her failure. Her disillusionment charm was perfect and had hidden her from the nauseatingly love-struck couple exiting the study. 

  
It was her cue to listen in on her dad's latest scheme. What on earth could he want from Harry Potter? The abrupt buzzing in her ears had come as a rude shock. She’d fled the scene and taken refuge in the vast grounds sprawled behind the manor. “It must have been a precautionary measure,” she said to herself. There was no way anybody could have known she was eavesdropping. Her stealth had never let-

  
“Good evening, Miss Greengrass.”

  
Daphne spun around to find the Head Auror starting at her. He was barely recognisable from the Hogwarts days, she noted. He dressed better, for one and sported a beard. Despite his slender build and average height, there was an intimidating aura around Harry Potter. He carried himself with the lazy confidence of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and seeing them obeyed. His bright green eyes drifted over her slowly. She could have sworn his gaze lingered over her own eyes for a moment longer than necessary.

  
Ignoring her mounting nerves, she fixed a smile on her face. “Hello there, Potter. Invited yourself to take a leisurely stroll around my house, have you?”  
He almost looked guilty, though it was hard to tell for certain. “My apologies. It isn’t every day that one gets to make the Deputy Director's acquaintance.” It was a lie and she knew it.

  
“You look positively thrilled,” she remarked drily. He hadn’t even bothered returning her smile. “I wasn’t aware that my presence in London had been publicised.”  
“It hasn’t,” he admitted. It was the first bit of honesty he’d shown. Daphne inwardly acknowledged that her sister had been right. It wasn’t easy to put one past Potter.

  
“I’m flattered, Potter. It's touching that you’d track me down just to grace me with your presence and company.”

  
Even though her tone was light and cheerful, Daphne was frustrated. She wasn’t used to people not falling for the happy-go-lucky charm. The fact that he'd known exactly where to find her and had actively sought her ought out only amplified her anxiety.

  
“Actually, I was here to meet your sister,” he began before Daphne cut him off.

  
“But you got a dose of Draco instead! No wonder you look so morose. I'd rather draw my wand on you than listen to another word about his dodgy Nimbus takeover.”

  
Despite himself, Harry’s confusion was apparent. Daphne Greengrass was not what he’d expected. There was something off about her whole charade and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. The air of informality felt forced considering they’d never exchanged a word before.

  
She noticed his puzzlement and smiled wider. “What? I may be his sister-in-law but I’ll also be the first to admit that he needs to get his head out of his ass.”

  
She felt better about herself. Clearly, Potter wasn’t as impenetrable as he liked to believe. Perhaps she could even coerce some hints about the meeting out of him.

  
“Draco seems to have grown out of it. Astoria seems to find him more than tolerable.” Harry's tone indicated that he certainly didn’t.

  
Daphne wiggled her eyebrows at him, “Oh My! You do move quickly, don’t you, Potter? She’s only been married for about a month and the two of you are on first name terms already.”

  
Taking a chance, Harry nodded vigorously. “My life is one conquest after the other, Miss Greengrass. Why else do you think I’m here?”

  
Daphne stared at him blankly before laughing. It was a genuine, tinkling laugh that was pleasant to his ears. A welcome change from the high, fake and overstated expressions of hilarity that Harry usually got from people around him.

  
Her expression turned sombre and she took a step towards him. “Thank you for saving my sister's life. She told me everything.” Her face darkened unconsciously and she trailed off. “If I lost Astoria as well….”

  
“Yeah, well, think nothing of it. I’m sure anybody in my shoes would have done the same thing.”

  
She turned around and ignored him. “Do you remember Blaise Zabini?” Daphne questioned him abruptly. “He was one of my oldest friends. We grew up together, you see?”

  
The voice was hard and flat. “Of course you do,” she went on, knowing that he didn’t have an adequate response. “You banished him off the Grand Staircase at Hogwarts and broke his neck.” 

  
She was glaring daggers at him. “Tell me, are you sorry about him too? Would anybody else have made him suffer as you did? ”

  
He asked himself the same thing every night. The terrified faces of his victims still haunted him. “I regret every act of killing I’ve carried out. But I do not pretend to mourn or feel sorry for them. You and I stand here today because I did what had to be done. No, I do not feel remotely sorry, Miss Greengrass.”

  
For some incomprehensible reason, his answer seemed to gratify her. She nodded appreciatively. “And you shouldn’t. His fate was sealed the minute he took the Mark,” she declared, holding out her own unblemished arms. “He might have been my friend but I hold no love for Death Eaters. You did well to rid our world of their malevolence.”

  
Daphne observed that for someone who constantly received tokens and words of gratitude from the entire wizarding world, Harry Potter didn’t seem to take praise in his stride. She watched him avert his gaze and made up her mind. Potter didn’t seem as horrible as she’d anticipated and she didn’t have anything better to do anyway.

  
“Potter, I’m here on vacation,” she began. He noticed that while the broad smile hadn’t returned, the severity of her gaze and tone had diminished. The aloof, distant expression looked more at home on her face.

  
“I have no intention of spending it watching Astoria stuff her tongue down Draco's throat. Would you be opposed to joining me for dinner on one of your days off?”

  
Harry stared at her, his gaze fixed on the sparkling blue eyes. The longer he looked into them, the more he was convinced there was something terribly wrong with Daphne Greengrass’ eyes.

  
He ran his hand through his long, messy hair and wondered what he’d gotten himself into over the last few hours. Not for a minute did he believe that Daphne was asking him out on a date because she was bored.

  
“Damn the purebloods and their infernal games,” he thought to himself. “Fuck it, how bad can it be?”

  
“I'd love to, Miss Greengrass.”

  
“Of course you would, I didn’t have any doubt about it,” she grinned indulgently. The bright-eyed cheery woman was back. He found the sudden change jarring.

  
“Does seven in the evening on Wednesday work for you?”

  
“It does. Oh, and Potter? Surprise me, will you?” the last thing Harry wanted to hear was requests for more surprises. He’d had his fair share of them for an entire week.

  
It took all his self-control to avoid grimacing when she held her arm out. It was an inopportune time to resume formalities. Daphne was enjoying this way too much for his liking. He brushed his lips softly against the dainty hand, nodded at the upbeat witch and made his leave, only to turn around once more.

  
“Miss Greengrass?” he finally smiled at her. “I wouldn’t go around listening in on any more conversations if I were you. Some might even call it ill-mannered.”

* * *

  
Teddy Lupin looked up expectantly as his godfather walked into the apartment. A half-finished photo puzzle of a wolf lay in front of him, another one of Harry‘s ideas. Muggle toys and playthings were surprisingly stimulating for the brains of growing kids.

  
“Did you get it?” Teddy asked him seriously.

  
“I sure did. Made it in the nick of time too.”

  
“The biggest one?”

  
Harry chucked a Sugarplum's Sweets Shop packet at the kid. “The very best,” he promised while Teddy tore it open and smiled at the massive slice of treacle tart. He’d inherited Harry's partiality towards the dessert.

  
Harry observed the boy in silence as he ate, mentally admiring his resilience. The only hint of sadness on Teddy's features was his hair, which was a vivid shade of bubblegum pink. Some part of his young mind harboured memories of his parents. Harry had always found it sadly ironic that Tonks’ favourite hair tone only resurfaced when Teddy was quite unhappy.

  
The boy had taken after Remus. He had the same quiet assurance, the tendency to listen and observe rather than talk and impose. Rarely did Teddy exhibit extreme emotions. He never cried much but he wasn’t prone to euphoric moments of happiness either.

  
Harry sipped on his gin and tonic, smiling bitterly. Andromeda would have killed him for drinking right beside his godson. But then, he’d always been on his best behaviour around the boy. For some reason, being around Teddy made him feel like he was back in school when he hadn’t seen so much death.

  
There was no easy way to do this. Hermione wouldn’t have approved of him discussing death so openly with Teddy but then she didn’t approve of a lot of things Harry did. He suspected that her offer to take Teddy in had been fuelled by more than simple affection and kindness. She was worried about the influence that spending extended time around Harry would have on the child.

  
And she was right, he admitted to himself. Teddy would never be able to lead a normal life around Harry. He’d never be able to have friends over or go out to Diagon Alley on a Sunday evening without being mobbed. Even though he did not like it, Harry had no choice but to face the fact that Hermione was right.

  
“Grandma’s gone, Teddy.”

  
The boy squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, enlarged his mouth and stuffed the tart into the gaping opening. His metamorphmagus abilities were improving constantly, Harry noted proudly.

  
“Someone killed her,” Teddy said softly. Harry made a note to set up an appointment with Hermione. Her work in the mind arts and introducing psychology into St.Mungo's had been revolutionary.

  
Harry had explained the concept of murder to him when he was seven, much to Andromeda's consternation. “Yes, he did, Teddy. A bad man tried to kill you too but you were brave.”

  
Teddy didn’t care for the compliment. “Did you find him?”

  
“You know I will.”

  
“Will you kill him?” a loaded question, thought Harry. He’d spent a decade hunting for revenge. Still, he was determined to steer Teddy away from the path of vengeance.

  
“Do you want me to?”

  
Teddy nodded, looking close to tears. Harry decided to change the subject. “You can’t live there anymore, Teddy. Would you like to live here with me?”

  
Teddy nodded vigorously before replying, “but Grandma said you didn’t like people coming to your home.”

  
“This house is as good as yours, Teddy. You can spend as much time here as you like. But Uncle Harry has enemies and they could come after you, it isn’t safe. Do you like Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, Teddy?”

  
While having Teddy over would do Harry a great deal of good, he wasn’t sure if it would benefit the child as much.

  
His godson smiled and nodded, “they have pumpkin pasties.”

  
“More than that, they would love to have you. Would you like to stay there? It would be easier for you.”

  
Teddy frowned. “Do I still get to see you?”

  
“Why, of course. Nothing could stop me from coming and seeing you. You could come to stay with me over the weekends too!”

  
Teddy nodded his acceptance. “Uncle Harry, is Grandma happy?”

  
Harry measured his words before answering. “Yes, she is. Grandma Andromeda lived her life well. She’s with your parents now.”

  
Teddy's lips trembled but the answer seemed to satisfy him. “What about your parents, Uncle Harry?”

  
Harry thought of his parents and the sacrifices they’d made. He’d made them proud. But he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think if they could see him now.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

  
“They’re happy too, Teddy.”

* * *

**Enjoy and thanks for reading. I would like to take this opportunity to appreciate and applaud all the people in the United States and over the world protesting in support of the Black Lives Matter Movement. Stay safe and be well!**


	3. Arriving at a Compromise

"Come in, Kingsley."

Harry Potter jumped to his feet at the sight of his old friend, the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. It wasn't standard protocol for the Minister to visit ministry employee offices himself but then Kingsley wasn't one for unnecessary ceremonies or summons. He shook Harry's hand warmly then proceeded to take an excessively large gulp of what looked like an ice cream shake he was unabashedly carrying around the office.

Harry looked at him ludicrously. "A bit early for dessert-"

"And I am thirsty. Get a move on, Harry, or did you summon me all the way up here to take pot-shots at my choice of beverage?"

Harry felt himself relax immediately. Kingsley had that effect on people. A shell-shocked war veteran couldn't have helped but feel better at the sight of the warm face and kind eyes. A picture of serenity that was only compounded by the slow, deep voice.

"This is the lead we're working on at the moment," Harry explained, pushing the photograph of the mystery wizard towards him.

"A hitwizard? The press would have a field day with this one if it ever got out. Have you identified him yet?"

"Your ministry is a failure, Kingsley. Apparently, someone thought it was a good idea to employ Zacharias fucking Smith in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad."

It had been all too easy. The blonde hair and upturned nose coupled with the hitwizard uniform had ensured that a simple cross-check through the list of MLE employees was enough to uncover his identity.

"Don't let your boss hear you saying that Harry, he's the one who gave him the job. They're already convinced you're after his post. Have you brought Smith in yet?"

"He's been on 'vacation' for over a week. Hasn't been in office and hasn't sent in any owls either. I'm thinking of sending a couple of my guys to check out his place."

"You aren't going there yourself?" Kingsley frowned.

"I'm not convinced, Kingsley. I knew Smith back at Hogwarts. Overbearing and incompetent? Sure, but the guy isn't a blithering idiot. I don't believe he would tail Andromeda in his uniform which is recognizable from a mile."

Harry had taken a look through Smith's record. It made for predictable reading. His marginally above average talent was held back by his poor attitude and numerous scuffles with his co-workers. It was no wonder that Smith hadn't been promoted once yet had already been shuffled through three different squads. However, there was no mention of lawbreaking or criminal connections.

The absence of suitable stalking attire wasn't the only doubt in Harry's mind. "What can you tell me about the Greengrass family? Off the records, obviously. I've already been through the file."

The random question didn't throw Kingsley off. "That's a strange thing to ask. There's a lot to tell, what exactly do you want to know?"

"They are considered neutral, on paper at least. Has that always been the case?"

"To some extent, yes. The Greengrass' haven't pushed the agenda of blood purity and muggle-born persecution as vehemently as most of the other pureblood families in the past. The most telling sign is their muggle business, which has flourished under Cyrus. It's quite unusual for one of the ancient pureblood families to invest so heavily in the muggle world."

"What about the Wars?"

"That's where it gets a little murky," revealed Kingsley. "I don't believe any of the remaining family members became Death Eaters. However, the family name was linked to a spate of attacks and raids, especially during the first War." He hesitated, "the attack on the Longbottom's was one."

Harry felt his insides clench. The file hadn't mentioned any of this. "So how come Cyrus Greengrass walks free?"

"Here's the thing, Harry. They were never mentioned as primary offenders. The Greengrass name almost always popped up as an accessory on the sidelines. My guess is that they never participated in any killing themselves. Rather, the family was coerced into aiding Voldemort through information, favours and perhaps, financial donations. More importantly, the Greengrass' actually testified against numerous Death Eaters after Voldemort's first defeat. Hell, we'd never have caught the Lestrange crew without Cyrus Greengrass' help. Every suspicious act of theirs was balanced out by aid, which they offered us at the risk of their own lives. What's all this about?"

"Cyrus Greengrass gave me this picture. It's from one of his boutiques that Andromeda was visiting," he explained.

The Minister didn't look very pleased. "If Lord Greengrass gave you that picture then it definitely wasn't a simple favour. In all likelihood, it's a transaction. Cyrus Greengrass doesn't do anything if there isn't a benefit in it somewhere for himself."

For a moment, Harry debated revealing Cyrus' ministerial ambitions. Ultimately, he decided against it. He trusted Kingsley with his life but there was no reason to betray Cyrus' faith yet, considering Harry hadn't even agreed to extend his support to him.

"The report mentioned that his wife died right after Voldemort's fall at Godric's Hollow?"

"Ah, yes. Elena Greengrass was a talented witch. Some say she was a Death Eater as well though it was never confirmed. I can't tell you much about her passing, most of the details never came out. I doubt anybody outside of the family knows the whole truth. Still, it's the finest and most morbid example of the risks you take while playing both sides. You gamble with lives and inevitably at some point, you lose."

Another dead end. "I hear his daughter is the Deputy Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Harry casually. He knew next to nothing about Daphne Greengrass and a person's work-life said a lot about them.

"She's more than that. Daphne Greengrass is the British Envoy to France. She's our primary official there. Why do you ask?"

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "No reason at all. Let's call it idle curiosity."

"For such a fluent liar, you barely make an effort sometimes," laughed Kingsley. "She's a piece of work, Miss Greengrass. Extremely good at her job, I've only met her a handful of times but she has those surly patriots eating out of her hand. She's very well-liked too, mind you," he added knowingly.

"I remember she used to hang with Davis, Zabini and the future Death Eater lot at Hogwarts. Did you ever run an inquiry into her?"

"Even if I did, it's none of your business," declared Kingsley roguishly. "Don't worry, I can tell you that she fought on our side at the Battle of Hogwarts. Disappeared right after too. I must admit, Miss Greengrass' rise in the Ministry has been unconventional, with how she came out of nowhere. I suspected Cyrus Greengrass called in some favours but I was wrong. She's a born diplomat. The way people talk about her, there's something uncanny about it. I don't think I've ever heard anyone badmouth her."

"Well, you won't hear any songs of praise from me," said Harry indifferently.

"Sure, Harry. You just go on ahead and treat that girl nice."

"For someone practically on their deathbed, you're disgustingly happy," scowled Harry with a disapproving look at the ice cream shake. "What are you so cheerful about anyway?"

Kingsley raised his glass in a toast and grinned wider. "You, of all people should understand. I do not fear death. If anything, I welcome it."

Harry stared at him blankly. "Oh come on, you know what I'm talking about. I can see it on your face, Harry. Sometimes there's just no going back to normal."

He knew exactly what Kingsley was talking about. As the years went on, he often felt increasingly detached from life around him. It was like looking at everything through a glass plane which nothing could break through.

"I faced Voldemort thrice, you know?" said Kingsley, breaking their silent reverie. "I never expected to walk away alive. After you've experienced something fully expecting to die, everything after feels like an added bonus. Most of the people I grew up and fought with are dead. I have no family. Times like this makes me realise why Dumbledore always spoke kindly of death."

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry I called you a happy soul. Bloody hell, people think I'm the joyless one," bit back Harry. Kingsley's words were relatable. A tad too relatable.

That drew another grin from his old friend. "You might have taken after your father in appearance but you've always reminded me of Sirius. Even more so as the years have gone by. You have the same power, the same line of thinking and forgive me, the same hint of concealed arrogance."

"Does impending death dull your senses, old man? Sirius wouldn't have taken up this blasted job for all the women in the world."

Kingsley ignored him. He didn't seem quite so gleeful anymore. "If you want to know what a man truly looks like, observe how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. Sirius would have done well to take his own advice. You, on the other hand, seem to have learned from your godfather's mistakes. Don't punish yourself for the past, as Sirius did."

With that, Kingsley rose and made for the door. "You might want to finish that," he said, indicating his half-empty glass on the desk. "You look like you could use a pick me up."

"Oh, get out already, you outdated relic."

* * *

Daphne stood perfectly still on the marble staircase leading up to Greengrass manor. Harry Potter wasn't late, she'd just taken the liberty of preparing herself well in advance. The evening didn't seem promising at all. One sentence, that was all it had taken Potter to deflate her usual assured self.

The driving motivation behind asking the Head Auror out on a date was the opportunity to obtain an idea of what he was plotting with her father. It turned out that he'd known about her eavesdropping shenanigan all along. It was a sharp-witted switch through which he'd turned the tables on her. She expected he'd be the one asking all the questions now. A few hours of ceaseless interrogation at the hands of Harry Potter was a daunting prospect.

She was interrupted by the doorway swinging open to reveal a smug-looking Astoria Greengrass.

"Official dinner, did you say?"

"Yes, I'm meeting with the Director tonight." She'd sold the lie to her father that morning. Not that there was anything to hide but it wouldn't hurt to keep her cards close to her chest.

"Daphne, you're wearing diamonds," her sister pointed out knowingly.

"I'm sorry, should I have checked with you earlier?"

Despite her sharp retort, Daphne knew Astoria had figured her out. She never wore gemstones to business meetings and work events. It worked in her favour when all the diplomats were fixated with her face, with no distractions.

"No, no. Of course not, I hope the Director appreciates all the effort," her sister replied innocently before pushing on. "Drop the act, you aren't fooling me. Who's the unlucky chap?"

"You'd never believe me if I told you. Oh well, see for yourself."

Harry Potter had materialised outside the manor gates. He walked through the iron as if it were smoke, moving like he was in a rush. Daphne couldn't help but wince. "You did this to yourself," she rebuked herself.

Astoria reacted just as she'd predicted. "You can't be bloody serious!"

"Good evening to you too, Astoria," Harry replied jovially. She leered at him, "take good care of my sister, Mr. Potter," before beaming at Daphne and practically sprinting back into the manor.

"Miss Greengrass, I'm terribly sorry I'm late," he bowed. Daphne blinked at him. An apology was the last thing she was expecting to hear. He wasn't even particularly late.

"You look wonderful," he said sincerely. If she didn't know better, she might have believed him. Daphne didn't doubt his words, only the conviction behind them. She wore an elegant black outfit that left little to the imagination. Her open hair fell tastefully onto her shoulders, while diamonds glittered on her neck and fingers. She didn't think he'd care much for it. What was Potter up to anyway?

"You seemed to have a lot to say the last time we met? Don't let me hold you back," nudged Harry insolently, noticing her eyebrows shoot up.

She stared at him. Harry Potter seemed far more relaxed this time. Unknown to her, Harry's meeting with Kingsley had done wonders for his mood. Seeing his old friend relatively healthy and in good spirits had been heartening. Nothing about him seemed to indicate disapproval or displeasure with Daphne's prior actions. For a short moment, gratitude flowed through her before she beat it down. She hadn't done anything wrong in the first place, Daphne said to herself. If Potter was playing nice then there might be hope for her yet.

"Your idea of fashion leaves me lost for words" she finally replied condescendingly. "What kind of Head Auror goes gallivanting around in a suit?"

She had to admit, it wasn't all that bad. Nothing flamboyant but sleek and well-tailored nonetheless while it seemed to make him appear taller than usual.

"Only doing my bit to cut expenses and save some for the underprivileged," he replied, holding out an arm. "You, on the other hand, could eliminate global poverty if you were willing to part with that get-up," he said with a sad shake of the head.

"If there's anyone to blame for what I'm wearing, it's you, Potter," she hit back, rolling her eyes at the offered arm before taking it. "You didn't even have the decency to let me know where we're headed. I decided to keep it casual, I hope my rags aren't embarrassing you."

"Your 'casual rags' will feel right at home in Diagon Alley. I figured we'd go for the Leaky Cauldron's wholesome dining experience. Or maybe even Madam Puddifoot's, if that's more your speed?"

"I expected nothing more from you, " Daphne sniffed patronizingly. "You soldiers wouldn't know class if it walked up and bit your nose off."

The banter was brought to a temporary stop as they walked through the gates. "We'll be apparating," Harry announced. He noticed her reaching up to tie her hair and interjected. "Don't bother with it. If you'll allow me?"

Daphne nodded her approval and allowed him to pull her closer. They disappeared noiselessly before resurfacing on the shore of a frozen lake, surrounded by thin woods and snow. Despite the steady wind, it was altogether silent and undeniably tranquil.

"We're in the North of Sweden," Harry answered her unspoken question. The scene before them was right out of a Scandinavian travel brochure. Daphne threw him an appraising glance. Apparating over long distances was a tricky business. While attempting inter-continental apparition was a guaranteed death wish, transport between countries within Europe was possible but rare and required a great deal of skill and conviction.

"Show off," she muttered, earning a snort from the dark-haired wizard.

"So we're going amongst muggles then," if Daphne was unhappy about venturing beyond the realm of Wizarding Britain, her features displayed no evidence of it.

"Well, yes and no. There's nobody here apart from us and three chefs at the restaurant up ahead. This place is pretty exclusive even by muggle standards."

Daphne nodded her thanks as he helped her into her overcoat. She was pleasantly surprised to feel the gentle heat of a warming charm run over her skin. Strangely, Harry hadn't whipped out his wand but she wasn't complaining. It was bitterly cold.

The restaurant consisted of a small wooden cabin which would have struggled to accommodate more than four or five tables. At that moment, however, there was a solitary table placed conveniently in a quiet corner. The head chef, a Norse man with a mane of flowing hair welcomed them politely as they entered.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Dursley," he greeted Harry with an air of familiarity.

"Evening, Magnus. Trust you're doing well?"

Pleasantries out of the way, they made themselves comfortable. The restaurant was well sheltered from the elements outside, with dim lighting and an underlying sense of luxury despite the unassuming wooden facade.

There were no menus, the establishment served a fixed tasting course. Harry offered to let Daphne choose the wine and settled back comfortably.

"Dursley? Really, Potter? Your lack of creativity in picking monikers is second only to the complete absence of it in this joint," Daphne poked with a teasing smile.

"The place really doesn't appeal to you? I thought you might like it," came the startled response.

She shook her head and grinned. "I love it. I'm impressed, Potter. Your bearing does not indicate it but you don't have bad taste."

"I suppose it's pointless asking you to call me Harry, isn't it?"

Daphne wrinkled her nose distastefully. "It's ill-suited to someone of your stature. Might as well have named yourself Tom."

He stared at her in the faint light. It had been many years since anyone had brought up the parallels between Voldemort and himself. He wondered if it had been an innocent joke but banished the thought when he noticed the mocking smile. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"You've obviously been here before. Made a habit of dragging star-struck women to gourmet dinners?"

"Only my muggle business partners. I've made multiple investments across the UK. Definitely not as extensive as your holdings but enough to demand my attention every few weeks," he lied.

"Our muggle dealings must be the only thing we have in common. Don't try to divert me, Potter. You can do better and you know it. I find it dubious that you'd take the pains of transporting muggles all the way into the middle of nowhere, just to seal a business deal."

It was a rubbish excuse, Harry admitted. For the second time that day, his attempts at deception were half-hearted. Discussing previous partners was awkward on a first date but he doubted Daphne really for cared who the individuals were as much as the discomfort it caused him to talk about them.

He mulled over how much to tell her before beginning, "I don't really see people all that much. The only one's I usually do are muggles and briefly."

Daphne looked like he'd given her a box of her favourite candy. "I always thought you went for the sporty, straightforward types," she pretended to look thoughtful. "Instead, the Head Auror apparently prefers exerting himself on naïve, unaware muggle women. Talk about skeletons in the closet. What do you do, lure them with promises of magic card tricks?"

Harry didn't miss the reference to Cho and Ginny. It made no difference, the Prophet had dissected his romantic interests to the point where it was public knowledge.

"Just a fun but short time with good food, decent company and no unnecessary questions asked," he said pointedly. He wasn't going to let her have it all her way, nor was he compelled to discuss it any further.

"Not all of us have your unending good fortune," he countered. "Commanding the undivided attention of scheming bureaucrats and paper pushers. Yet your younger sister gets married first. Hard to choose one, Miss Greengrass?"

Harry knew he'd struck a nerve. For a cursory moment, her expression tightened and a hand reached for her face, right below the eyes. The look of anger disappeared in a flash, leaving him unsure if it had even been there in the first place.

"I'm not ready to tie myself down just yet, Potter. Work keeps my hands full as it is. Marriage is the last thing on my mind," she replied, with a sweet smile. It was thoroughly insincere.

"I'm sorry. Really," he apologized after a minute's silence. He wasn't even sure what for but it felt like the right thing to do.

She gave him a searching look before nodding. "It's alright. I deserved that one."

Marriage was a sensitive issue for her, considering nobody would agree to it once the illusion fell away. Daphne's anger wasn't directed at Harry, but her fate. After the initial shock, she could appreciate his sharp retort and the sensitivity to apologise even though he didn't have to. She acknowledged that Harry Potter was putting up with her needling and jabbing digs but only out of politeness. Clearly, he could give just as good as he got.

"Oh, snap out of it. I've heard much worse," she poked him with her fork. "Save the coddling for your business partners."

She adapted very quickly, thought Harry as his slight concern ebbed away. Daphne seemed back to usual sardonic self.

The arrival of the food brought about a brief lull in the conversation. While a little on the pretentious side, the meal was absolutely delicious, with a wide spread of meats ranging from foie gras and fish to pork. The wine was excellent and Harry nearly felt at ease. He was quite pleased with himself for choosing the place. With no clue as to his date's likes and preferences, he'd taken a swing in the dark and picked a place that was extremely luxurious, very exclusive but not overly ostentatious.

He looked at Daphne at she ate slowly. Her manners were perfect and her actions deliberate. It was a stark contrast to her sarcastic, casual approach to conversation and general interaction with him. His first impression was that Daphne Greengrass enjoyed opulence without the flaunting exuberance associated with it.

"Humour me, Potter," she began while dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "Did you expect me to throw a storm and a fit at the prospect of dining in a muggle establishment?"

"You're taking it surprisingly well, though I'm sure people like you are liable to whimsical outbursts without any warning."

She smirked, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. He didn't know her at all. "I have no deep-rooted hatred of muggles. In fact, I've proceeded out into muggle France frequently enough."

"I can respect that," Harry raised his glass in acknowledgement. Regular visits to the muggle world were not typical of purebloods, especially those in high posts at the ministry. "What do you make of them?"

"They're alright. I don't have any muggle friends," she began earnestly. "I must say, they seem to try hard to accomplish things, even if most of their obstacles are of their own creation."

She collected her thoughts for a moment and seemed to lose a bit of conviction before continuing. "They're also weak. I do not care for weakness, Potter. I do not subscribe to the extreme radical pureblood ideas about how muggles shouldn't be considered human and deserve to be wiped out. But at the same time, in my opinion, they are powerless to the point of being liabilities."

"I've spent some time in the muggle world. They fear what they do not understand. They intrigue me. We are so different yet so alike at the same time."

Daphne didn't seem to agree with him. "You probably haven't spent enough time with them then. I seriously doubt if muggles are anything like us. I'm content to leave them alone to their business but I wouldn't be in a haste to interact with them if you gave me a choice."

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. If only she knew how wrong she was. Still, her approach of 'live and let live' wasn't too bad. Indeed, it was a tangible improvement on the mediaeval attitude that still prospered in certain corners of pureblood society.

Daphne felt like she'd just passed an imaginary test. She was aware of the muggles' ability to bring about mass destruction. It honestly terrified her, to see such power in the hands of such a naïve race. But she was loathed to reveal her insecurities, especially to Harry Potter.

"Do you want to walk?" He asked suddenly. She nodded, "some more wine first, perhaps?" and ordered for another bottle.

"I remember your crew at Hogwarts was, well, boisterous," said Harry abruptly. "How come I never saw you join in their festivities?"

Daphne laughed lightly. "If you're referring to Draco, Crabbe and Goyle then no, I wasn't even particularly close to them. They were a bit of a joke in Slytherin. Nobody took them too seriously but nobody cared enough to shut them up either."

"What about Zabini and the rest of the Death Eater gang?"

"Do I detect a hint of jealously in there, Potter? After you've gone through the effort of killing him, I suppose I'll have to make do with you" she reached out and touched his arm reassuringly.

"To answer your question, I grew up with them. Tracey Davis, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. As I'm sure you know, none of them was from the upper echelon of Death Eater families," she paused and downed an entire glass of wine.

"It probably comes as a surprise to you daft Gryffindors but Slytherin wasn't simply a recruitment group for the Dark Lord. Everyone kept it low-key until the sixth year when things started to get out of hand. It was an uneasy truce of sorts. We all knew who the Death Eaters in waiting were but nobody confronted them out of fear for their families. At the same time, Draco, Blaise and Pansy weren't stupid enough to flaunt their allegiance constantly. I never got into skirmishes simply because my family didn't side with the Dark Lord. In the interest of neutrality, it's best to keep a low profile."

Harry stared at her and decided she was being sincere. Perhaps there was more to it, but what little Daphne had revealed seemed genuine.

There was something different about her. The sparkling blue eyes weren't twinkling any longer. There was a vague expression on her face, as though her mind were elsewhere. Harry was beginning to suspect that this was much closer to the real Daphne Greengrass than anything he'd seen yet.

"You don't hold back when it comes to your alcohol, do you," he observed amusedly. The bottle was nearly empty already.

"You're damn right, Potter. I don't believe in casual drinking. When I drink, I want to feel it," she refilled his glass for him. "Or feel nothing at all," she added with an impish grin.

"As far as I'm aware, you've never given an official interview detailing your chaotic Hogwarts tenure," she noted.

"No, I haven't. I can tell you this, an entire week's newspapers wouldn't be enough to cover that shit show. All the same, it's cute how you keep tabs on my mentions in the papers."

"Only so I know where you're going to be and make it a point to stay as far away as I can," came the flippant dismissal. "Am I correct in assuming there's no use in asking you to verify all the rumours that have been floating around for the better part of a decade?"

"Not a snowball's chance in hell," he agreed, smiling cheerfully. He'd never spoken about his tumultuous time at Hogwarts and neither had his friends. There was no way he'd give Daphne all that ammunition already. To her credit, he didn't seem to be particularly bothered about uncovering the mystery of his doings at school.

She pouted at him. "I'm asking you really nicely, Potter. _Please_ ," she whispered scandalously.

As he squirmed slightly in his seat, Daphne once again observed that Harry didn't seem very comfortable even while joking about intimacy. It seemed so unlike him, so out of his usually composed character but she found it hilarious.

Daphne spared him the trouble and signalled for the bill, which Harry grabbed before she could make a move at it. He paid up using muggle money and helped her into her coat. Some might have been offended at the subtle display of generosity but Daphne couldn't care less. Money wasn't a concern to either of them.

She grabbed his arm as they walked slowly through the woods. "You didn't bring me here just because it's muggle and fancy," it wasn't a question.

"No, I wanted someplace quiet where we wouldn't be disturbed," he glanced at her disbelieving face and laughed. "Fine, I admit I prefer going out to muggle areas. People don't notice me here."

It was in line with her estimation of Harry. Even though Draco always claimed otherwise, the little she'd noticed about him since the Hogwarts days indicated that he despised the attention he attracted. "One would imagine you'd be used to the scrutiny after all these years."

"I'm accustomed to it but that doesn't mean I like it or have to put up with it. Having people constantly walk up to me and express gratitude for a murder I committed nearly ten years ago is distressing," he countered. "It's not like I had a fucking choice anyway," he added softly, almost to himself

"There's the safety aspect as well. In the last two years, I've killed eight people in the line of duty, while another ten or so are in Azkaban thanks to me. Rapists, murderers, launderers, some from well-known families. You never know when a disgruntled relative could decide to indulge in some payback."

He sounded bitter about the whole thing, perceived Daphne. "You don't like your job then?"

"I'm good at it," it was an elusive reply but she ignored the urge to needle him further. They found themselves back at the frozen lake. She promptly settled down on the snowy shore, patted the ground next to her and snuggled closer as he reluctantly joined her.

"My job's fun as well, it's definitely interesting, to say the least," she began.

"Kingsley was mentioning that your rise was unorthodox," Harry interrupted. She looked at him stiffly before smiling. There had been no need for him to reveal that to her. While she wasn't foolish enough to believe that Harry trusted her, she appreciated the fleeting moments of honesty. For all his self-control, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if he unknowingly let things slip out.

Daphne also realised that Harry knew about her self-induced exile. For a horrible second, she feared he was aware of the reason behind it but shook it off. Nobody, not even her father knew the finer details of her ordeal. Astoria did but then it was her sister who'd found her. Again, she was grateful and confused beyond measure at Harry's refusal to bring the whole thing up.

Surprising herself a little, Daphne reached up and ran a hand lightly across his cheek. "I don't know whether you're bragging about being on first name terms with the Minister or trying to display your twisted obsession with me," she grinned before gently slapping the top of his head. "Next time you want to run your mouth about me, do us both a favour and come straight to me, Potter."

Harry stared at her sheepishly. This time he really did look apologetic. Daphne was smiling at him, he noticed. For the first time, it seemed like a true expression of happiness. It was a faint smile and didn't reach her sharp blue eyes but it gave the pale face a glow that all the wide grins and mocking smirks couldn't.

"I like my job because like you, I'm competent at it," Daphne continued. "It's the main reason why I've been promoted multiple times so rapidly. My familiarity with France and their government also played a large part, I suppose."

"In international politics, there are only friendships of convenience. A good compromise isn't one that offers everyone the best solution. Between countries, that just isn't possible. In my line of work, a good compromise leaves all involved parties unhappy. Nobody wins," came the serious explanation. "You ask why I moved up the ranks so quickly. I always win, Potter. And I make sure nobody else does," she finished slyly.

While though his earlier calculations were pretty close to the truth, Harry was impressed. Under the superficial air of cheerfulness, feigned familiarity and piercing taunts, Daphne Greengrass had a razor-sharp mind. The illusion was enough to lure anybody into a false sense of security. After a few hours, even he felt more at ease around her than he would normally allow.

"What's the deal with you and your father?"

He hadn't meant it to come out that cold but Daphne had the eerie ability to put him on edge just as easily as she made him feel comfortable.

She was staring at him, the blue eyes glaring into his own. He regretted his decision to get rid of his glasses all those years ago but despite having nothing to hide behind, Harry refused to look away. She was slowly leaning towards him. Her eyes flicked to the faint outline of the jagged scar on his forehead. He could make out the aroma of pine and juniper as she moved closer, numbly taking in her flawless skin while she threatened to push up against him…

"You keep your secrets, Potter and I'll keep mine."

He barely noticed her draw away at the last second, smiling softly. His ears were pounding and his mouth felt awfully dry. He'd almost forgotten what the sensation felt like. His legs were weak though he was steady on his feet. He pulled her up gently and saw her merry air had returned. Daphne took his arm and they walked silently to the middle of the lake. He glanced at her for permission and with a last look at the woods, they were gone.

* * *

"For all your flaws, numerous as they are, apparition isn't one of them," she remarked as they walked through the manor gate. "I haven't met anyone who can do it across such distances without so much as a pop."

"Thank you. I'm trying to set a high standard at the Auror Office. The loud cracks are an easy giveaway. A couple of seconds is ample warning in a fight."

Rather than entering the house, Daphne steered them into the gardens behind. As they strolled in comfortable silence, Harry realised they understood one another. He wasn't willing to reveal anything about his dealings with her father just yet while Daphne wasn't inclined to entertain his attempts to uncover the curious dynamics within the Greengrass family.

"It appears we have reached an impasse," she quipped, reading his mind.

Harry snorted. That was an understatement. "I believe you called it a compromise?"

"Touché. At least you pay attention," despite the lack of discernible information from their evening together, Daphne seemed quite satisfied.

She turned around and stared vacantly at him as she moved closer.

"Do you want to come in?"

He forced himself to stop turning mental cartwheels. His own reactions disappointed him. Daphne seemed completely comfortable invading his personal space but Harry never thought he'd find it acceptable. Desirable even.

"Not particularly," he deadpanned with way more confidence than he truly felt.

He was certain he'd successfully sidestepped a trick question. The assumption was confirmed when her face melted into a smile.

"I'd have been terribly disappointed if you did," she whispered, slipping her hand into his as the abnormally bright eyes peered up at him.

"Thank you, Potter. You were unpredictably tolerable."

Goodnight, Miss Greengrass," and with a squeeze of his hand, she was gone.

* * *

Astoria was waiting in the dining room when she entered. Daphne wasn't surprised. To external observers, the siblings didn't appear to be very close. However, the two had enormous trust in one another, even though they didn't spend much time together at all. Their personalities weren't too different but their respective approaches to daily life were. Astoria would never cater to the whims and fancies of a bunch of old men or even feign her acceptance of the idea like Daphne did. Conversely, Daphne wouldn't allow herself to embrace her sister's idleness and absence of drive.

"You're late. I was beginning to wonder if you'd be spending the night elsewhere," observed Astoria, looking at her nails nonchalantly.

"Hm? Oh yes, I'm back."

Astoria was at her side in a flash. She peered into Daphne's eyes and touched her forehead. "No temperature, eyes look clear, no perspiration," she muttered to herself.

That snapped Daphne out of it. "What in the name of Merlin's baggiest briefs are you babbling about?"

The amateurish medical examination was interrupted by Draco Malfoy walking into the hall, carrying a plate piled with food. "What's all the commotion about?"

"Daphne's ill," said Astoria. "Or I think she is? She was on a date and she hasn't complained, whined, bitched or said anything at all yet. Draco, you hog, just look at her! She's nearly giggling for goodness' sake."

"I believe she is. She hasn't even tried to chuck me out yet," he drawled back contentedly. "This is a most welcome change, who do I thank?"

"Harry Potter!"

He was on his way back to the kitchen before the stacked plate could hit the floor.

"What a laugh riot this is," Astoria yelled after her fleeing husband. "Draco, stop running and clean that up, will you?"

She turned back to her sister. "He really didn't give you a tough time? No grilling questions and threats of torture?"

Daphne still looked lost. She wasn't sure what it was but it was a good feeling, from what she could tell. Harry Potter was clean, interesting, polite and a complete gentleman. Too bad he was a scheming liar who'd clammed up every time the conversation turned towards information she needed. A fascinating one, but a liar nonetheless.

"Oh, he did give me a tough time," Daphne couldn't stop smiling. "In his own way."

* * *

**A/N Blatantly ripped off Magnus Nilsson's Faviken restaurant for the setting here. It's a real shame they closed their doors for good last year. Highly recommend his books and his appearance on the 'Chef's Table' Netflix series. Do let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading. Stay safe and hydrated!**


	4. Another Dead End

Chapter 4: Another Dead End

"Pucey! Rowle! Can I see you in my office, please? At once, if you don't mind."

Harry Potter was wrapping up his paperwork for the day. Most people were under the impression that being an Auror was an 'all-action', outdoor profession but the understated reality was that it involved long hours of desk work with copious amounts of documentation and filing.

He pushed a couple of folders towards the duo and waited as they glanced through the pages.

"Zacharias Smith, hitwizard. Filed for paid leave ten days ago and hasn't been seen since. We've sent three owls summoning him back at the earliest. None of them returned. I think we've waited long enough. I need the two of you to inspect the house tonight."

Pucey frowned, "with all due respect, sir, a night-time inspection is hardly regular procedure."

"He's a ministry employee linked to a murder case. I want this done as quietly as possible. The address is in the folder, exercise added caution if it's a residential area. You'd draw too much attention if you tried to do it during the day."

Rowle finished looking through the file and asked, "you will be issuing us warrants then, sir?"

"Not this time. Look, I know this deviates from our normal methods but I don't trust anybody in the MLE right now. The guy hasn't been seen for over a week. He probably isn't in the house and even if he is, there's a good chance he's dead."

She gulped. "Permission to engage if he resists, sir?"

"Maim him, break a leg, knock him out, I don't care. I need him alive. If he's there, don't kill him under any circumstances. If he isn't, tear the place apart. Look for any letter, communication or a hint as to where he might have disappeared."

"There will be enchantments guarding the house. An experienced wizard might be able to tell they've been tampered with if we reinstate the wards after tearing them down," warned Pucey.

"That's a risk we'll have to take. If Smith is innocent, we'll listen to his shit once he resurfaces and reinforce the protections free of charge. If he isn't, well, then there's no damage done. Do you need more men?"

The two Aurors looked at each other before shaking their heads. Pucey was the most seasoned member of Harry's team and had considerable experience in active field duty. On the other hand, Rowle was a newbie. The witch was young and very talented, especially at duelling. Talent, however, couldn't compensate for a lack of involvement in actual operations.

"Right. Around midnight should be ideal, you won't be noticed easily. If you run into an emergency, call it in. Be careful, if our owls never returned, it means he knows we're looking for him. Or someone does."

* * *

"Harry put him down!"

"Lift him higher, mate!"

"For crying out loud, Ron-"

"Stop telling me what to do," insisted Harry over the commotion. Despite the late hour, it was an absolute madhouse at Ron and Hermione's. Teddy Lupin floated around the room quite impervious to the din his levitation was causing.

"Experience is the best teacher," declared Ron with an air of finality as Harry lowered his godson to the floor.

Hermione wasn't impressed. "Of all the ways to teach him levitation, Harry, that is the worst. You could have smacked him against the ceiling!

"I remember you being in favour of practical lessons when Moody was ferreting Malfoy around," Ron wasn't having any of the safety talk.

"Shut up, Ron, your levitation charm's gotten worse with time and it wasn't anything to write home about in the first place."

Some things remained constant, thought Harry as the debate continued to rage. He was determined to ensure Teddy had a head start over the rest of his peers when he began at Hogwarts. The levitation charm was a simple point to start at.

"Gimme your wand," yelled the thrilled child, taking a swipe at his godfather.

"The only thing I'm giving you is a pillow, will you look at the time? Get to bed, Teddy," said Harry, putting his wand away.

"Make me!"

"Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. If you go to bed this very instant, I'll carry you there myself AND come see you tomorrow too."

Teddy scrunched his face up, considered the idea for a whole second and rejected it outright. "It's a bullshit deal."

Harry sighed and put on his most pleasant smile. "Where did you learn that word, Teddy?

Teddy pointed at Ron, looking mighty proud. "Uncle Ginger-"

Ron had heard enough. "I'll put him to sleep for you, Harry," he said, lifting Teddy onto his shoulders and bolting up the stairs before Hermione could give him a piece of her mind.

Harry was beginning to fix himself a drink when the chain at his neck buzzed sharply. Pucey and Rowle.

"Something's come up," he told Hermione. Her development of the Protean charm had paved the way for the development of the buzzing chains. They were the main emergency communication tools of the Auror Office. The chains were faster and more discrete than using a Patronus.

"Is it urgent? You have staff on standby, don't you?"

He did. The Auror Office worked in shifts and there would be competent wizards to offer aid. "I have half a mind to let someone else handle this. It has got to do with Andromeda though."

"Then you should take it," she said without hesitation. "Go. I'll make sure Teddy's tucked in."

He nodded his thanks and strode past the garden before grabbing the chain and disapparating.

* * *

Harry materialized on a dirty, narrow lane strewn with trash. Identical brick houses lined the road, constructed uncomfortably close to each other. The row of houses was broken by a small, three-storeyed building that looked like it contained apartments. He was in Spinner's End, realized Harry, looking around at the unmaintained surroundings of the muggle street. He'd visited Severus Snape's old home here, after the War.

He approached the two hooded figures observing the building and asked, "what's the problem?"

The duo jumped and spun to face him. "About time you- oh, sorry, boss. Thank goodness you responded," whispered Rowle. "These wards aren't the recent types. I can't recognize some of the enchantments."

"I can try breaking them," admitted Pucey. "But I don't think I can do it without spoken incantations if I'm working alone."

Harry took a closer look at the buildings. The windows suggested there were two flats on each of the three floors, as well as the ground level. Light flickered in all the windows save the ones on the second floor.

"Second floor? That's inconvenient, it's sandwiched between two levels. The protections are placed right at the door, I assume."

They climbed up to the second floor and arrived at a large wooden door, which looked newer and steadier than the building that housed it. "Fine, I'll do it myself," declared Harry as he closed his eyes and let his magic flow against the wards. The layers felt familiar but were definitely an older version. He noted the resemblance to the ward system prevalent during the War. The enchantments weren't too different from the ones at the Tonks residence.

"Something isn't right here," Harry thought uneasily. "Strange place for a pureblood Auror to live," he muttered to his companions. "These aren't regular wards, they're old and distinct. Best keep your wands ready."

Harry wasn't an elite curse-breaker but his ability to reach out and sense through his magic gave him a rare advantage. He approached the right side of the door, closed his eyes and murmured under his breath while making sharp, jabbing motions with his wand. Abruptly, a circle of yellow light shimmered around the door and faded from sight.

He walked to the other edge and repeated the process, this time waving his wand in quick circular movements. A glinting green rectangle appeared around the door's border, glowed brightly for a moment before dissolving. Harry's apprehension was mounting. Even an above average wizard would struggle to break these wards, leave alone erect them in the first place.

Moving to the centre, he stood still for a second and slammed a fist into space ahead of him. A blood-red triangle hung in front of the entrance before slowly disappearing into nothingness.

For the sake of the observers, he pointed his wand at the now unguarded door and whispered, "Homenum Revelio". Nothing. The house was empty. With a nod at his colleagues, he wrapped his hand around the doorknob and began to swing it open.

He felt a faint resistance and…

_**Click** _

A blinding flash of white-hot light filled his vision. Harry Potter threw his right arm out just as a wave crashed into him, sending him flying backwards through the air. And he knew no more.

* * *

White turned to red, which in turn morphed into orange. He tried to reach out and touch the light hovering just beyond reach but his arm refused to budge. The effervescence continued to diminish rapidly until he forced his eyes open.

A strong whiff of antiseptic greeted Harry as he came back around. It felt like he was back at the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. The soft linen sheets felt plush against his skin and he realized he wasn't wearing any clothes. He tried to sit up but his body didn't seem inclined to listen. Toning it down, he attempted to move his head instead. After what felt like an hour, his neck obliged and Harry managed to look about him.

The excessive white furnishing could only mean one thing. He was in St. Mungo's. As far as Harry could tell, he was alone. None of the other beds in the spotless hall seemed occupied but with his benumbed back glued to the sheet, he couldn't raise himself and make sure.

Gathering his strength, he forced his arm up from underneath the covers and picked up the newspaper on the table beside him. Taking a closer look at his right arm, he saw it was tainted black as though it had been burned through before being healed. He squeezed his eyes to refocus on the tiny font of the paper and began reading the main headline.

_**Midnight explosion in muggle alley leaves five dead, Head Auror injured** _

_**A blast In the muggle neighbourhood of Spinner's End killed five people last night. The casualties included unaware muggle citizens. While the exact cause of the accident remains unconfirmed, anonymous sources suggested that it was an Auror operation gone astray. Prophet reporters found that the Head Auror, Harry Potter, was amongst the people present in the area at the time of the blast.** _

Having gotten the gist of it, he didn't bother looking through the rest of the article. The MLE had moved quickly but not fast enough to prevent the media from getting there first. Accidents leading to loss of life attracted journalists like flies. With the additional involvement of Harry Potter, the media had the hit the jackpot.

He was about to chuck the paper aside when another article on the front page caught his eye. A photograph of himself stared up at him and he checked the by-line for the reporter's name – Rita Skeeter.

_**Harry Potter: Lifesaver or Dealer of Death?** _

_**The much vaulted Auror's eventful reign at the head of the nation's elite security force takes another violent turn, writes Rita Skeeter.** _

_**Harry Potter is no stranger to death or playing with the lives of the people around him. Indeed, death seems to follow the ex-war hero like a persistent tail.** _

_**Unfortunately for his peers and subordinates, they do not share Potter's durability and unending good fortune. The danger Potter poses to his enemies and criminals is only rivalled by the peril that members of his department find themselves in as they attempt to follow his rigid orders.** _

_**The Boy-Who-Won may be infallible in the eyes of his many admirers but the ministry will soon have no choice but to acknowledge realists who doubt whether the ruthless Auror's violent methods and unnecessary bloodshed are needed in this time of peace.** _

"Bastards," he breathed. Skeeter's articles did not inflame him as they did in the past but the woman's writing was vicious as ever. He wasn't worried though. It would take much more than Rita Skeeter's libel to turn public opinion against him again. Not that Harry cared much for what people thought of him, anyway.

"You're awake," the relief was palpable in Hermione's voice. He could make out the dark circles under her eyes as she walked over.

"My wand," Harry croaked. His throat felt ashy and he had to strain himself to form coherent words.

He sighed with relief as she handed him the holly stick. Pulling it under the covers, he tapped his chest and closed his eyes as the pain-relieving charm kicked in.

Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval but remained silent. Harry's preference for temporary relief over full-fledged cures had been the subject of many an argument between them in the past.

"The Aurors. What happened to them?"

Hermione tried to be gentle. "Harry-"

"Both of them?"

"No. The witch survived. You used wandless magic, didn't you?"

"I must have cast a shield charm by reflex," he wheezed. "How bad is she?"

"Better than you, Harry. Your right arm took the brunt of the explosion. She must have been behind you, to your right. The man, he never stood a chance. Must have died before he hit the ground but at least he didn't suffer much."

Harry gritted his teeth. It made no difference. Pucey had been in the department since Harry's first day in the job. He remembered the older Auror mentioning plans of getting engaged soon. It would never happen.

"How much longer, I need to get back there," he couldn't afford to get caught up in sentiments then.

"Will you stop it? You aren't a machine, Harry. Merlin, you nearly died! Your arm was blacker than coal when they brought you in," Hermione's distressed voice hit a shrill note.

Harry refused to meet her gaze and waited in silence. He'd had enough of Hermione's coddling for a lifetime.

"You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want to. Third-degree burn scaling the entire right arm. Moderate concussion from a blow to the head. Three broken ribs, a cracked left femur and second degree burn on your face, chest and stomach. I'd keep you in here till tomorrow morning if I could," she trailed off in frustration.

"Teddy wants to see you, he's been worried sick. I'm going to nip out for a bit and get him. Do your godson a favour and stay here till I get back. There are guards at the door to make sure you aren't disturbed."

That did seem like a lot of damage, admitted Harry. He nodded his agreement and watched the healer stalk away whispering to herself. Forcing the bubbling frustration down, he reminded himself that despite her persistence, Hermione had his best interests at heart.

Harry had almost drifted into an uneasy sleep when raised voices sounded at the door.

"Ma'am, I have strict instructions that he isn't to be disturbed. No visitors under any-"

"Do you think I'd leave my department and come all the way here if it weren't urgent?"

"No ma'am, but please-"

Harry didn't have to reach out with his magic to know who it was. He closed his eyes as footsteps approached him.

"You're alive," she pouted, sounding like Christmas had been cancelled.

"Always the tone of disappointment."

He opened his eyes when he heard a chair being dragged over. Daphne Greengrass' face had anxiety written all over it. She was dressed in her official uniform. The royal blue robes had no business looking that good on her, he thought. But then, he doubted they were supposed to be that close-fitting either.

She noticed him looking up and her shoulders sagged theatrically.

"Don't look so gloomy, my injuries might just finish me off tonight."

She perked up at that. "Here, I got you treacle tart," Daphne shoved a packet into his singed face.

"How about you stop pretending like you care," he remarked, throwing a wistful look at the sealed packaging. His arms were in no condition to feed himself.

"How about _you_ start pretending like you're an Auror and not a pensioner," she didn't miss a beat. Her eyes ran over him tucked into bed like an overgrown child and looked unimpressed. "What the fuck is this?"

"It's a cosy bed and comforter, of course. You ought to try it, it would do wonders for your blasphemous language," he said, straight-faced.

Her malicious look had him regretting his words before they'd been uttered. "Now's as good a time as any," she agreed, rising from her seat and reaching for the covers at his neck.

"Don't you dare! Sit down or I'll scream," Harry threatened, grabbing the comforter and holding it up to his head.

"Spoilsport," she grumbled crossly.

He peeked up at her over the covers. The back and forth had helped him more than any medicine could. "Thank you," he gave her a small smile.

Daphne ignored him and reached for his untouched packet. "Since you aren't interested in this, don't mind if help myself."

"If you could see past your own selfish desires, you'd notice that I find myself incapacitated."

"I'm not feeding you, Potter, if that's what you're getting at," Daphne shut him down as she tore open the packet. "I'm not your mother and even if I were, the shame of having a weakling for a son would kill me."

Harry pulled out his wand from under the covers and transfigured a small bottle of medicine from the bedside table. "Please," he requested, handing her a silver spoon.

It earned him a dazzling smile. "Thanks," she chirped and proceeded to help herself to a generous bite, much to his disbelief.

He opened his mouth to berate her just as Daphne's attention turned to his scorched arm. "That looks beyond painful," she exclaimed, putting the spoon aside before her eyebrows rose in surprise. Harry followed her gaze and realized the usually faint scar from his encounter with the basilisk was visible clear against the rest of the arm's blackened skin.

He stuffed the appendage back into the covers but she'd seen enough. "That looks like an animal inflicted wound," she started. "Almost like a snake bite."

"Unfortunately, I don't recollect you sinking your teeth into-"

"That's pathetic, Potter," she said softly, cutting him off and slipping her hands beneath the sheets and onto his wounded arm.

The temperature in the room seemed to soar. Harry wondered when the sensation in the numb arm had returned. He wasn't certain why his arms were covered in goose pimples either. Her warm hands traced the scar, moving upwards.

He was rescued by the ward door banging open to reveal an agitated Teddy Lupin. He sprinted the length of the room and took a running leap onto the bed. Harry wrapped an arm around Teddy, who's head was buried into his chest.

Introductions were in order, he decided. "Miss Greengrass," he started before trailing off. The woman's eyes were locked on the boy's pink hair, her face marred by an expression of pure horror.

* * *

_Daphne was in hell. Or the closest thing to it. Screams of agony rent the air, while thick smoke billowed from the fires raging around the castle. There were no rules and no glory here. Witches and wizards cut through the mass of figures, firing spells at anything they laid their eyes on._

_She ducked underneath a crumbling statue, looking out for any familiar faces. A gut-wrenching shriek pierced her ears as a gigantic acromantula snapped its pincers into a wounded man's leg._

_It was total bedlam. Once the spiders and giants had entered the fray, one on one combats had ceased. People ran for their lives, while others took advantage of the chaos and struck down unsuspecting targets._

_She'd made sure Astoria had been evacuated safely before joining the battle herself. This was no place for a child. A group of resistance fighters came rushing into the courtyard, which was in threat of being overrun._

_Bellatrix Lestrange was in her element. Cackling loudly as curses flew from her wand, she took out a couple of wizards before turning her wand on a young boy in Hogwarts robes. "Hello there, Crucio!" She howled, only to stop in her tracks as the curse carved into a table which appeared in front of the child out of nowhere._

_"Show yourself, you coward," she screamed, spinning around in search of the unknown interloper. Daphne steeled herself as she stepped into Bellatrix's line of vision. Recognition dawned in the mad witch's eyes. "You treacherous bitch," it was only a whisper._

_Before Daphne could utter a spell, a cutting curse sliced into her leg. Suppressing a moan, she lifted her wand to fight back but was brought to her knees as another curse rammed into her stomach. The Death Eater raised her wand to cast the finishing blow when another cutting curse slammed into her unsuspecting figure, hacking open her shoulder._

_Daphne crawled on her stomach towards the shelter of the fallen table and looked for her saviour. A furious witch in Auror robes faced off against Bellatrix. Colours shifted through her hair, oscillating between angry red and jet black before settling on a shade of bubblegum pink._

_"You ought to pick on someone your own size, Aunt Bella."_

_Bellatrix licked her lips in anticipation. "Ickle Nymphadora. How I've waited for this moment. Third time's the charm, dearie."_

_Without warning, she threw a jet of green light at the Auror's head. Bellatrix's mouth dropped open as Tonks shrunk herself by a foot and allowed the killing curse to sail harmlessly over.The two began to duel, moving faster than anything Daphne had seen._

_Nothing could prepare a dueller for a fight against a metamorphmagus. Again and again, Bellatrix sent well-aimed spells at her niece, only for Tonks to elongate, shrink, twist and morph herself out of harm's way. Capitalizing on the Death Eater's frustrated aggression, Tonks caught Bellatrix out with another cutting curse, tearing a gash open in the older witch's cheek._

_Meanwhile, Daphne had taken refuge against the table. She tried to stop the bleeding in her leg but couldn't do so. The deep cut stung and burned but she ignored the pain and clenched her wand, looking for an opening through which she could join the duel against Voldemort's most feared servant._

_As the battle raged on, Tonks began to tire. The recent childbirth had taken its toll on her. Her shapeshifting began to slow down and she was forced to combat Bellatrix's curses with spells of her own. Sensing her niece's inability to keep dodging forever, Bellatrix pressed her advantage._

_Daphne saw it coming before it happened. The Death Eater feinted as though she was going to cast a spell to her right. Tonks fell for the bait and lunged to the left, only to be immobilized by her aunt's disguised Body-Bind curse._

_Bellatrix bent over giggling, unmindful of the war raging around her. She straightened up and waved the frozen Auror goodbye._

_"Avada Kedavra"_

_Daphne could only watch in despair as the lifeless body collapsed right next to her. The pink-haired illusion flicked for a brief moment before Tonks' appearance returned to her natural form – heavy-lidded, curly-haired and tall. In death, she looked like a younger, more sane version of her aunt._

_Blinking back tears, Daphne tried to grovel away around the table, away from the Death Eater she knew would be coming for her. She'd barely moved a couple of inches when a foot kicked into her back and knocked the wind out of her. Summoning her fading strength, she rolled over and swung her feet into the air before falling onto her back, panting. The legs connected with Bellatrix's face and sent her wand flying out of reach._

_The Death Eater raised a finger to her bleeding lips. She crouched low over Daphne, her breath hot on her victim's face. She noticed the girl's eyes fixed on the nasty looking gash on her cheek._

_Bellatrix's voice trembled with rage, "you like what you see?"_

_She didn't bother retrieving her wand. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a shining silver knife. "Just like your mother. She used to see much. Too much. Let's remedy that, shall we?"_

_Daphne screamed and tried to struggle but with the witch's weight on chest and hand at her throat, she never stood a chance._

* * *

"She's pretty!"

"Shhhh, Teddy, you don't want to go around making her any happier."

Harry was staring at her, his face unreadable. She'd have to be careful, Daphne rebuked, pulling herself together. It wouldn't do to space out in his presence.

"Teddy, this is Daphne Greengrass, we're business partners," the boy poked his head out from under the covers and gave her a shy wave.

"Hi there, Teddy! How're you doing today?"

"Fine, thanks," came the muffled reply as he dove under the covers again before resurfacing. "You smell like burnt toast," he complained.

"Get out of here, Teddy. Go see if Hermione needs any help with whatever concoction she's going to force down my throat next."

"That's Remus Lupin's son," he explained, turning to Daphne. He hesitated before revealing, "I'm his godfather."

"Seems like a nice enough kid. Who's the mother," she asked, already knowing the answer.

"She died at the Battle of Hogwarts. She was an Auror. His grandmother was murdered on the night of the Anniversary last week. I'm all he's got left."

"You're taking good care of him, I hope?"

"I try," came the subdued response. "He's living with Ron and Hermione at the moment."

"What? You aren't taking care of your orphaned godson? What's wrong with you, Potter?"

Harry stiffened. "You don't understand. Not many people know he's my godson in the first place. The explosion last night, that could have been my house. Too many innocent people have died because of me already."

Daphne didn't seem convinced. "I know you can't take of yourself in the first place but that isn't good enough, Potter. That kid needs you."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but she stared him down. "I suppose you're right. I'm just doing it for his own good."

"Potter."

"You're a godforsaken bully. Fine, I'll take him in but only after this thing blows over. Not before."

"That's the spirit. Now, what's ' _this thing_ ' exactly? What in Merlin's name happened to you?"

He shifted in his bed, "It's classified. I can't go around spilling department secrets, can I?"

"You just don't want to admit you got your ass handed to you," she grinned. "Harry Potter losing his touch, perhaps?"

Harry didn't respond. There didn't seem to be any harm in telling her the details but Daphne's peculiar interest in her father's dealings was still fresh on his mind. After all, the previous night's events were linked to the information Cyrus Greengrass had provided him.

"Andromeda Tonks, Teddy's grandmother that is, was murdered right? Someone tipped us off about someone tailing her. We identified the guy, I went to check his place out and the place blew up when I opened the door."

"You don't trust me at all," Daphne laughed at the vague explanation. "Just answer my question. I doubt you forgot to use the presence-revealing spell. Was the place empty?"

He nodded. "When can you get out of here," she asked after pondering things over.

"Any time I want, I- No! Not a chance. I'm not going to give you a bloody tour of the crime scene."

"I'm giving you a choice, Potter. Either you take me with you or you tell me the exact details of this mess you find yourself in."

"How generous," he glowered at her. The madder he got, the happier she seemed. "It's a pretty shite place. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Oh, just a couple of waiting warlocks. They can go to hell, for all I care. Plus, you're...what did you call it? Ah, _incapacitated_."

"Don't bother, I'm right as rain, fit as a fiddle and all that rubbish. I can manage just fine-" he made to get out of bed but fell back as pain shot up his arm. Her hands had found their way under the covers again but there was nothing gentle about the ministrations this time.

"Harry, are you-" Hermione Granger wasn't prone to speechless confusion but the sight in front of her did the trick. Her gaze swayed between Harry and the hands wrapped around his burnt arm.

"Healer Granger," Daphne said brightly, with a wide smile. "I was just checking on my um, business partner here. I can see he's in the best possible care. Thank you."

"I ought to be on my way, duty calls," she turned to Harry. "Anything I can do for you before I leave?"

He chucked a pillow at her. "Here, throttle me with that and make sure I can't breathe."

Daphne shook her head at the stunned Hermione. "He seems pretty far gone. Concussion?"

He felt her warm breath as she lowered a mouth to his ear. "Meet me outside," she whispered, drawing away before he knew what was happening. It wasn't the method of asphyxiation Harry had requested but it brought about the same result anyway.

"Have a pleasant day, Miss Granger," she bid Hermione goodbye and made to leave the ward. "Don't die on me yet, _Harry_!"

Silence descended onto the room with Daphne's departure. He felt Hermione's questioning stare and groaned, pulling himself out of bed before she could round on him.

"For the love of God, just don't ask."

* * *

Spinner's End was a hive of activity. Yellow police tape sealed off the dilapidated building as a group of hitwizards hovered around the scene.

The duo sought out the supervising wizard, a certain Andrew Roberts, who was busy barking instructions.

"Good morning," said Daphne, interrupting his loud rant.

The tiny wizard looked overjoyed to see her. "Director Greengrass," he simpered. "You honour us. But what brings you to this rundown neighbourhood on this fine morning."

"It's good to see you too, Roberts. I'm assisting the Head Auror here." The man's overbearing manner disappeared in a flash, replaced by a look of apprehension.

"Roberts. Report," said Harry curtly, stepping into sight.

"There-there's been an explosion, sir," the man stammered.

"Cutting edge detective work as usual," snarled Harry, gushing vitriol.

"The Head Auror is a little tetchy today," Daphne apologized on his behalf. "Please, Andrew. Anything of note to report?"

"No, ma'am. The Aurors got here first and wiped the memories of the witnesses. We let the muggle police come in and handle the bodies of the muggle victims. We were asked to come in and hold the fort once they were done. I believe the Minister sent the muggle Prime Minister a letter regarding the accident."

"Thanks, Roberts, pull your men out. All of them," Harry dismissed the man. He gave Daphne a deep bow, shot another nervous glance at Harry and disappeared with the rest of his squad.

"Play nice, Potter," she chided.

"You've got to be fucking joking. Did you hear him try to tell me there'd been an explosion here? I nearly fucking died. What's with all the 'Andrew' rubbish anyway?"

"They'll be nice to you if you'll be nice to them," she tried to soothe his frayed nerves. "Why do you think people are ready to bend over for me all the time. Just make them feel like you care."

"Andrew," he scoffed.

"You have a special disregard for hitwizards," observed Daphne. "Aren't they supposed to report to you?"

"It's a real shit show," he replied, walking into the building. "For decades, the hitwizards were the cream of the MLE. Once I showed up, they were relegated to a supporting role. They don't like me any better than I like them. The hitwizards are the secondary force now but they still report directly to the Head of the MLE. It makes no sense but it's what it is."

Daphne continued throwing questions as he reinstated the wards at the doorway. "Talk around the Ministry suggests you had were responsible for cutting their influence. Is that true?"

"Yeah, it was all me," he admitted, surprising her. "The hitwizards were getting too confident and had too much power for their own good. Many of them were hesitant to give up the extra powers they'd been given during the War. So l spoke to Kingsley and gave them a reality check."

"Try breaking these wards down," he motioned towards the door. "I'm confirming a hunch," he replied to her questioning look.

It took her a while but Daphne broke through the first two layers. The final round of enchantments, however, stumped her. Nonetheless, Harry was impressed by the speed and efficiency on display. She spent five minutes trying to tear down the last layer but without success.

Not bad. Not bad at all," he gave her an admiring look. "They aren't five wizards in my entire department who could have broken them down that quickly.

Her failure annoyed her, "I didn't get through them all though."

"That only confirms my suspicions. Don't beat yourself over it, the skill is there," his praise fell on deaf ears. "I sent a couple of Aurors here first. Damn good ones. They couldn't break through these wards working together, so they called it in. That's when I showed up."

Realization dawned on her face. "You're thinking whoever set these wards up wanted to make sure you were at the scene."

Harry nodded and punched the air again, revealing the triangular projection. "Not many people can get past that. It's a War-time enchantment that was used by the Death Eaters. I'm not sure any other Auror could have broken past the last spell."

Daphne looked perturbed before asking, "when did the explosion take place?"

He paced the landing, lost in thought. "I broke the enchantments and checked but the place was empty."

"So it was a pre-arranged plan," she finished his line of thought. "A bottle of Erumpent Potion maybe?"

Harry walked into the house and closed his eyes. The blast had ripped through the ceiling and floor of the hall. Rubble lay spread around a small radius. Sidestepping the gaping hole in the flooring, he examined the rest of the house. Despite the damage in the hall, the other rooms were relatively untouched. However, the house was stripped bare. No furniture, clothes or anything that indicated if someone had lived there.

Back in the hall, he found her crouched next to the frame where the door once stood. "Not a sign of glass. Lots of this black powder though, whatever it is."

"I've seen enough. This was no magical explosion. The gunpowder confirms it but there's no magical reside around the flat either."

"Magical residue?" Daphne was sceptical.

"One of Dumbledore's old tricks. He used to talk about how all magic left traces, especially powerful magic. I can't do it as well as he could but a magical explosion would leave all sorts of tell-tale signs. This? This was caused by muggle methods."

Daphne was lost in thought. It was a lot to process. She wondered if that was how Harry had known she was snooping outside her father's study.

"We are in a muggle neighbourhood though right? Who's house is this anyway?"

Harry went quiet. She noticed his wand had found its way into his grasp. "I was hoping you could tell me, Miss Greengrass?"

"Don't be ridiculous? How am I supposed to know? I've never been here in my life," she denied vehemently.

He walked towards her with exaggerated intent, twirling his wand. "This house is registered in the name of Zacharias Smith. A pureblood hitwizard. He was seen following Andromeda Tonks around a day before she died. The anonymous source I was telling you about? Cyrus Greengrass."

He was right in her face, holding up a hand as she made to speak. "Forgive me for being suspicious, but a tip from your father leads me right into a trap. A trap designed just for me. You notice how the rest of the house is still in one piece? The device was guaranteed to kill anybody who walked through that door. The incision in the door frame was made by a hook connected to a tripwire. I felt a faint resistance when I tried to push it open last night. Add to that, the unique ward system and I have no doubt that somebody wanted to get rid of me."

"I had nothing to do with it, Potter. If that's what you are implying." Daphne's heart was thumping. She fortified her mental barriers, half expecting a vicious legilimency attack. It never came.

"Don't be absurd, I'm not going to poke around your head. No, I don't think you had anything to do with it but I do think it's time you gave me something to work with."

Daphne felt out of her element. Harry Potter was a top-tier Auror. His work on the wards, ability to feel magical reside and eye for minuscule details suggested he was the very best. He even knew when she pushed her occlumency shield downs.

"I don't know-," she began but he cut her off, looking furious. "Bullshit, Miss Greengrass. Why are you even here?"

That was uncalled for. She gave him an icy glare, "I'm here because I'm worried about you. That and only that is the reason. Not all of us spend every minute of the day drawing up elaborate schemes to kill you. If this is how you treat everyone who tries to be nice to you, Potter, it isn't surprising that people don't like you much."

She was tempted to turn on her heel and walk away but stood her ground. Leaving in a huff would only appear more suspicious.

Harry seemed worn out as he walked out her and slumped on the half-broken staircase. "I'm sorry, I'm all over the place today," he apologized, head in his hands.

"It's understandable, Potter. I didn't mean to come out that strong. Just reign in that cynical brain of yours for a bit, please?"

She sat down beside him, a leg dangling precariously over the edge. It was now or never, she thought. It wasn't anything concrete, it wasn't anything useful but she couldn't ignore the signs any longer.

"Hey," she bumped her shoulder into him. "You want something to work with? I don't hold any love for my father. I don't know what he's promised you but watch your step."

* * *

A/N: A big thank you to everyone who's been showing love! I really appreciate the PM's and reviews. I noticed the previous chapter seems to be a bit of an adverb vomit fest and decided to redo it a bit. That's what you get when you beta your own work but I apologize for the errors all the same. Thanks for reading and enjoy! Don't forget to eat your greens for the week. Stay safe, especially y'all in Florida.


	5. Seizing the Initiative

It was a small group that gathered to bid goodbye to Auror Adrian Pucey. With no immediate family to speak of, the responsibility of his last rites fell upon the shoulders of his adopted brood, the Auror Office. There wasn't much left to bury, anyway. The unfortunate man had borne the full blast of the explosion and all that remained was an unrecognisable charred corpse. Nonetheless, the ceremony was conducted with the sombre respect and dignity associated with the security wing of the Ministry.

As the encased remains were lowered into the grave, the assembled Aurors shot red sparks into the night sky. A final tribute to one of the longest-serving members of the department. Once the burial had concluded, Harry Potter addressed his forces.

"Today, we say farewell to one of our own. Adrian Pucey was strong in life. Loyal, headstrong and dependable, he was a fine example of what we stand and fight for. This office shall honour him and his memory," he raised his hand high in a sign of remembrance. "To Adrian."

"It is vital," he continued, "that Pucey's death does not come in vain. As a legend of this Office used to remind me, constant vigilance is the key. Pucey's demise was brought about by a split second's loss of concentration, on my behalf. Let us take this opportunity to remind ourselves to never lower our guard, even when the job appears to be done."

Harry had dwelt over his speech for many hours. The death of an Auror was always bad for morale but a death caused by muggle means was a veritable disaster. He had no doubt there would be enquiries coming his way soon. However, Harry's main concern was to make certain it would not happen again.

He drew a deep breath, scanning the faces ahead of him. A recovered Rowle was in attendance, as was Pucey's old Quidditch teammates Marcus Flint and Graham Montague. "As most of you are already aware, Pucey was killed by a muggle detonation," the wave of unrest that swept over the audience was palpable. "It is time for us to re-examine our methods. Too long have we underestimated the danger of non-magical destruction. We must broaden our horizons."

Harry waved his wand and a bunch of pamphlets distributed themselves across the spectators. "An updated guide to entry procedure," he explained. "Most importantly, never force entry without placing a ward or a shield charm in front of your group. I expect all of you to familiarise yourselves with the contents at the earliest. My team meet me in the conference room. The rest of you, that's all for today and thank you for your attention."

As the crowd dispersed, Harry found himself cornered by three burly figures. Flint, Montague and the erstwhile Slytherin seeker, Terrence Higgs.

While the trio's physical dimensions had increased since the Hogwarts days, the familiar leer on their faces suggested the development wasn't mimicked by their mental capabilities. "May I help you, gentlemen," asked Harry, resisting the temptation to laugh.

"Potter, Potter. You were always a tenacious one," Flint drawled, in what he thought was a laid back manner.

"Just tell me what you want, Flint. I don't have time to bandy words with you and your bruisers." Harry wasn't fooled by the feigned calm. The pulsing vein in the older man's neck was a dead giveaway.

"We just wanted to know how you got away while our old friend perished, Potter," Flint ground out, abandoning all pretence of polite discussion. "How do you always walk away unscathed, while people around you drop dead?"

"Just durable, old chap, the Slytherin beaters ought to know better than most. But then, that lot couldn't hit a barn door."

Harry's riling hit the mark, much to Montague's displeasure. "Your hubristic self-belief will be your downfall. One can only hope that next time, Smith finishes the job."

That caught Harry's attention. The Slytherin trio was aware of the suspect's identity. With the diverse web of Ministry sources available to the old pureblood families, it wasn't unexpected.

"I'm sorry about your friend, gentlemen. You can wring an apology out of him once I bring him- "

"If you can bring him in," cut in Higgs. "Which will be difficult, considering we plan on getting to him first."

"Adrian Pucey was more than a teammate. He was family," declared Flint. "His murderer will face justice. At our hands."

This was not part of the plan, thought Harry. A group of vigilante wizards thirsting for blood and revenge was the last thing he needed. It was of paramount importance that Smith was brought in alive.

"You boys seem to be sure it was Smith. Rather suspicious, I must say," Harry attempted to dissuade the fantasies of payback. He knew it was a lost cause before the words left his lips.

"Worthless specifics," Flint dismissed with a swing of his hand. "When we find Smith, we'll just ask him who did it. I'm sure we'll be able to make him co-operate."

Thank goodness Pucey was the one who became an Auror, he said to himself. The lack of deductive reasoning on display could have given Sherlock Holmes a stroke.

"You realize I could have your merry band booked for intimidation and attempt to obstruct justice?"

"I'd like to see you try, Potter," sneered Montague. "On what grounds? This is just a hypothetical debate amongst friends."

He'd had enough of the useless chatter. Harry drew himself up into the face of the taller man, his eyes narrowed and cold. "Don't tempt me, Graham. You remember the last time you pushed too far, don't you?"

The trio paled and stepped back. Years ago, a group of pureblood wizards was caught smuggling in contraband after the War. While it wasn't proven, Harry had suspected links to Death Eaters in foreign lands. Flint and others had gotten away scot-free, but their operation had been busted.

"Warrington sends his regards," Harry breathed and pushed past the group, shoving a shoulder into them for good measure. Cassius Warrington hadn't been as lucky as his friends. The ex -Slytherin chaser remained a long-term Azkaban resident.

Flint's threats echoed in Harry's mind as he made to meet his team. He doubted the group's ability to uncover Zacharias Smith's traces but then, stranger things had happened. With the remarkable developments over the last couple of weeks, it wouldn't surprise him if they happened to stumble upon Smith by accident.

The awaiting group jumped to its feet as he entered. "At ease. Someone's gone and put a spanner in the works, so listen up. You're looking for revenge, I get it. We all are. But there's more to this than just finding Smith."

His eye caught Rowle seated in the front, her face set. Hermione had explained the notion of survivor's guilt to the young Auror. It hadn't extinguished her determination to lead the hunt for whoever had murdered her partner.

"We. Need. Him. Alive. Kill him and I promise, you'll be watching the phone box at the Ministry entrance on a full-time basis. The catch is, we aren't the only people on the lookout. Pucey's lads from school have decided to take matters into their own hands. Their idea of a solution is extermination. I will require five of you to keep an eye on that bunch of baboons."

"Permission to engage- "

"No, for heaven's sake! Don't pick a fight under any circumstances. They won't be doing anything wrong until they try to lay a hand on him. The files should reach you in an hour and you can take turns rotating the watch."

"What about Smith, sir?" Rowle was operating on a one-track mind since the incident. "What do you want us to do?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Truth be told, he didn't have a clue as to where to go from there. With the examination of the Smith residence drawing a blank, it was time for him to come clean with Kingsley and face Cyrus Greengrass.

"We don't have much to go on, do we? Fuck it, we have nothing to go on. The last time anybody saw Smith, he was here, in the Ministry. Keep working on it. Re-examine everything we've got and let's hope for a stroke of good fortune. If you think of something, run it by me before executing, please."

As the group laboured out, he caught Rowle lingering around the back, waiting. She approached him once they were alone, looking nervous.

Shuffling her feet nervously, she blurted, "I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. I didn't get a chance earlier."

Harry raised an eyebrow. The young Auror still had much to learn about the ways of the Office. Watching your partners backs became second nature. Saving a partner's life wasn't something to be mentioned. Aurors would return the favour without batting an eyelid. For Harry, it had been the norm since his days in the War and one that had continued once he joined the Ministry.

"Don't mention it," he began before cutting off as she gave him a quick hug and fled the room. He waited till she was out of sight and scowled. After all those years, Harry Potter still despised unexpected physical contact.

* * *

He found Kingsley Shacklebolt in his office, bent over a desk in pain. The Minister of Magic grimaced and wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead, his face set in stoic resignation. While still some distance off death's doorstep, it was clear that his condition was deteriorating.

"Look sharp, Harry," said Kingsley, trying to alleviate his friend's worries. "The pain doesn't last long or come around often. But each time it does, it lasts a little longer," he explained.

"Have a gander at this, those ugly mugs should compound your misery," Harry replied, chucking a folder containing the details of Flint and his mates.

"This is what it's come to," complained Kingsley with a long-drawn sigh. "The Minister of Magic hunting for hoodlums. Ah, the incompetence of my Head Auror…"

"Your powers of recovery are miraculous," came the dry response. "Kingsley, I haven't been honest with you. Cyrus Greengrass has asked me to support his bid to become the next Minister of Magic."

If Kingsley was surprised, he didn't show it. "So, the man grows weary of playing a role behind the scenes. What did you say to him?"

"I told him I'd get back to him once I'd made up my mind. I wanted to think over it before asking you but the explosion's forced my hand. Greengrass' tip-off could have gotten me killed."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Harry," he advised. "It's tempting to dump the blame on Cyrus but if he's requested you to back him up, you're invaluable to him alive. With your public support, he becomes the front runner for the post."

"I'm not jumping to conclusions but it's the only lead we've got left. I'm knackered, Kingsley. Smugglers and ruffians, I can deal with. What I'm tired of dealing with, is Death Eaters. There's a link to the past here, I can feel it."

"If this is you attempting to sound like a washed-up old man, you're doing a terrible job," sniggered Kingsley." I think this is very good for you, Harry. You can deny it all you want but you've become complacent. Suffering from success is what they call it."

"What would you have me do, oh wise one," bit Harry, shooting him a venomous glare. He loathed to admit it, but Kingsley had a point. As his impeccable track record suggested, Harry wasn't used to running into complete dead ends.

"Tell Cyrus you accept his offer. At the very least, it'll guarantee your safety from potential threats at his end, if there are any."

"You think he'd make a suitable Minister of Magic then," questioned Harry.

"There's a dearth of suitable candidates, that's for sure," Kingsley admitted, throwing himself into a chair. "You'd think people would be more subtle, but I get that question every now and then anyway. We could certainly do worse than Cyrus Greengrass. I suppose there's no point attempting to persuade you to take up the mantle?"

"You've got to be off your trolley. Where does this notion that I'd make a decent Minister come from anyway?"

"Well, you've got the duplicity to make an exceptional politician, for one," came the cheeky justification. "If I had to choose, I'd go with Susan Bones. She fits the bill, or my bill, at least."

Harry snorted in derision. It would be an uphill task for anybody that inexperienced to captivate the powerful elders in the Ministry. While Susan was popular, Harry found that she didn't share the authoritative control displayed by the late Madam Bones. Truth be told, he'd harboured reservations about the Department of Magical Artefacts Head since their time at Hogwarts. Susan Bones hadn't desisted from vilifying him during the Triwizard Tournament and unlike many others, the woman hadn't deemed it necessary to offer an apology.

"The last thing we need right now is an overzealous, outdated individual looking to impress in the spotlight. If we are to have a young Minister, there's no time like the present. I find Miss Bones to be open and accommodating without letting people take her for granted," explained Kingsley. "Cyrus Greengrass, on the other hand, is a wildcard. He might have a real chance, you know. The public loves a newcomer nearly as much as they adore enigmas. Greengrass fulfils both criteria. I only fear that he will approach the job just as he approaches everything else. Working for himself alone and not the stability of our world."

* * *

"Please come in, Mr. Potter. Master Greengrass has been expecting you. Follow me." The Greengrass' house-elf was peculiar by the usual standards. He didn't exhibit the quirky…peculiarities that Harry was accustomed to from Dobby, Winky, Kreacher and the likes. There was no high-pitched squeaking or prattling. Instead, the resemblance of the elf's voice to a human's was startling. The measured demeanour was in stark difference to the bubbling eagerness and over-exuberance of the army of elfs at Hogwarts.

He found Cyrus Greengrass in the sprawling gardens, brandishing what looked to be a Remington shotgun rifle. Before Harry could enquire further about the bizarre sight, his eyes locked on to a golden blur speeding around the vegetation.

"I'd offer you a shot, Mr. Potter, but that snidget deserves a fair chance at survival," the old man remarked, noticing Harry's eyes trailing the speck-like bird. Golden snidgets were an endangered species and the inspiration behind the golden snitch. It had been long since Harry had graced a Quidditch pitch. The bird however, was quicker than a snitch and he couldn't help but feel Cyrus' faith in him was misplaced.

"That's one way of catching a snidget," said Harry, eyeing the polished gun. "Oh, I assure you, I couldn't hit it even if I tried," came the nonchalant response. "Just trying to rediscover some lost youth. As I'm sure you're aware, firearms are faster than most simple magical spells."

"I heard you had a narrow escape, Mr. Potter?" It was a casual remark and if there was anything beneath, it was indiscernible.

"Indeed, Lord Greengrass. Your tip proved to be…intriguing. It was what lead to the entire accident, you see? The Smith residence was rigged. I have reasons to believe I was expected."

"I assume Smith is the man in the photograph then," Cyrus Greengrass wore a troubled look, appalled that he'd inadvertently lead the Head Auror towards peril.

Harry gave him a pleasant smile. "That is astute of you. The fascinating bit is the trap itself. Most ingenious, a muggle incendiary device of sorts. Undetectable by magic and quite unorthodox," he revealed, gently pulling the Remington from his host's grasp and cocking the rifle at an imaginary target.

The man paled at the implications. "Mr. Potter, I give you my word. I only sought to aid and serve. If I would have known what were to pass, I would never have jeopardized your well-being by giving you that picture."

If Cyrus Greengrass was acting, he was wasting his time being a businessman, thought Harry. It was a performance worthy of gracing the Royal Opera House. Constant eye contact, a faint tremble, hunched back and disbelieving shakes of the head. The complete package.

"Please, Lord Greengrass, do not apologise. I was merely voicing my thoughts. It matters not, I will not be caught out again. As you can see, I am rather resilient, although I've been told it isn't one of my more endearing qualities."

The relief was tangible on Cyrus' face. "I must insist, Mr. Potter. I only hope that the outcomes of our future endeavours match the nature of my intentions. Now that you are here, I presume you've arrived at a decision?"

"I've had time to sit over it," accepted Harry. "Even though I have an inkling, I must ask you to expand on your plans for the future. In case I do agree to extend my backing."

"My formula is to build on this foundation you have given us," began Cyrus, looking pensive. "Yet, I also endorse a prudent and circumspective approach. You see, Mr. Potter, for decades we've faced infringement of our rights and lives from within our world. I, for one, am wary of the repercussions of the present conflicts in the muggle world."

It was a start, decided Harry. He was liable to take the man's soliloquy with a grain of salt but at least Lord Greengrass seemed to be making an honest effort.

"What of the muggle-borns? How will you approach their integration into our world?"

"How predictable," chided Greengrass with a smile. "I hold muggle-borns in high esteem. It is time we choose to understand the muggle world rather than exile it any further."

He withstood the urge to remind the man that if anything, it was the Wizarding World that was under exile. " Hermione Granger would be proud, Lord Greengrass. That is an admirable opinion."

"Ah, your friend Miss Granger. There are some in the Ministry who believe she would make a fine Minister herself, one day. I would have you know that I don't share the popular sentiment."

Harry didn't either but he was curious as to whether the man's disapproval was because of Hermione's blood status or something more reasonable.

Cyrus answered Harry's question before it was put forth. "It has nothing to do with her blood-status. From what I hear, Miss Granger is an exceptional witch. My scepticism stems from her self-confidence, Mr. Potter. A politician must be willing to admit defeat and back down even when they're correct."

Yet again, Harry couldn't help but appreciate whatever information the pureblood Lord had access to. Hermione's biggest flaw was her inability to even imagine the possibility of her ideas being wrong. All the more so, when it came to politics and the topic of blood-purity and other issues she held close to her heart. There was nothing wrong with her revolutionary views. The problem lay in the manner she chose to present and endorse them.

"Your daughter is a promising option too," ventured Harry. "Word has reached my ears of her negotiating abilities."

A hint of a cloud passed over Cyrus' aged features. "My daughter still has much to learn about matters back home. I'm afraid her expertise is limited to foreign shores."

Harry chose to press on. He was curious to uncover whether Daphne's dissatisfaction with her father was mutual. "You do not believe she's up to the task then? Despite the high regard she's held in?"

"I have complete faith in my daughter. When the time is ready, perhaps she'll be willing to bear the burden herself." The response came a little too quickly. It was enough for Harry, though. He was willing to wager that Cyrus mirrored Daphne's malcontent.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to take the plunge. "Very well, Lord Greengrass. When the time comes, you may count on my support. I ask you to keep our agreement to yourself for the time being. It would be wise to prevent other potential suitors the opportunity to prepare for this…unexpected development."

"In that case, please call me Cyrus. I must convey my gratitude, Mr. Potter," thanked Lord Greengrass, holding out a hand.

The muggle manner of 'sealing the deal', surprised Harry. He was a little offended, but it was also a telling sign. It may have been a symbol of the man's willingness to embrace muggle tradition but at the same time, it indicated that despite his high claims and reassurances, Cyrus Greengrass did see multiple groups and not a unified front. Filing the thought away, Harry shook the offered hand firmly and took his leave, a pair of sky-blue eyes watching his every step.

* * *

Dinner at Greengrass Manor was a subdued affair, for the most part, but all the more so when Daphne was in town. That night, Cyrus Greengrass and his daughters ate in withdrawn silence, with no attempt to initiate conversation.

Whenever Daphne visited, her father made it a point to sit down for meals together. She reckoned it was his own way of trying to maintain a semblance of togetherness. It wasn't effective though, as the exercise served to highlight the animosity. Therefore, when Cyrus addressed her that night, the act itself was as surprising as his words.

"I met with Harry Potter today. He spoke of you in glowing terms. The man was quite candid too, didn't hold back in his praise at all."

Daphne placed her fork back on her plate, gathering her patience. She had mixed feelings about the git's candour. A cross-examination at the hands of her father always tried her patience. But then, she was certain that Harry's words would have soured her father's mood, something that never failed to brighten her day.

"Mr. Potter is a man of good taste then," she remarked, her voice light. "When one works as hard as I do, the plaudits follow, sooner rather than later."

Cyrus would have loved to voice opinions on Daphne's work ethic but restricted himself to idle chewing instead. "Indeed. I was wondering if the two of you were familiar. I couldn't help but think that it could be a contributing factor to his newfound admiration."

"I made his acquaintance at the Ministry recently," she lied. "Just a quick exchange of pleasantries. He seems like a fascinating man," she finished, sensing a scoff coming from Astoria's side of the table. A well-aimed kick was enough to make her sister reconsider offering any contradictions.

"We've gone over this before. It would be unwise on your part to get close to Mr. Potter, only to disappoint him later. I suggest you refrain from giving him any more of your attention."

Daphne trembled with suppressed rage. Her father's tendency to offer unsolicited advice without having an inkling of her daily life and actions was infuriating. She noticed Astoria give her a beseeching look of warning. It took all of her resolve, but Daphne managed to plant a smile on her face. "I'm afraid I don't feel too well. If you'll excuse me," she rose from the table before her father could object.

Once she was back in her room, Daphne frustration broke through. A book went flying across the desk and a bottle of perfume shattered against the marble floor as she vented. Before further damage could be caused, the door swung open and her sister stepped in.

"Merlin! How do you live here through the year, Astoria? Why does he refuse to see that we aren't children anymore?"

"He's tenacious, I'll give him that," Astoria acknowledged, clearing the mess with a wave of her wand. "What's got him so riled up about Potter anyway?"

"They met today. I saw them," revealed Daphne. "Whatever they're planning, they've agreed on it. I saw them shake hands. It must be important; can you imagine father forsaking his exaggerated bows for handshakes?"

"Daphne, I'm sure he won't marry you- "

"No! How do you know? How can you be so sure? I refuse to be dealt around like a piece of unwanted meat. When I settle, it will be on my own terms and with someone who wants me for who I am. He's tried thrice already, there's nothing stopping him from trying again."

Astoria pursed her lips and frowned. "Well, the older you grow, the more anxious he gets. Any luck with Potter?"

Daphne buried her face in her hands. "None whatsoever. He gives nothing away, it's exasperating. I don't know what to make of him."

"To be fair, Harry fucking Potter seems like the last person on earth who would enter negotiations around someone he'd never spoken to. The entire idea is ludicrous."

"It's not Potter I'm worried about. It's father. He's done the unthinkable before and now with time running out, he might be getting desperate. But you're right, Astoria. I'm just making a meal of things," said Daphne, close to breaking down.

Astoria put a rare comforting arm on her shoulder. Even with the cheerful façade, Daphne never showed signs of weakness if she could help it. "How's it going with Potter," she asked, hoping to steer the conversation to steadier ground.

Daphne shook her head morosely. "He's a paradox and nothing like I'd expected. In the public eye, he's indifferent and a bit of a tosser, to be honest. But he's an altogether different person in private if I can call our one date that?"

"There's got to be more to it than that," huffed Astoria. "Elaborate. Do the two of you get along or don't you?"

"You talk as though I've been speaking to him for years. We've met twice and he might have been concussed the second time, for good measure."

"How unfortunate, a real pity, I'm sure. You do realise, that you still haven't answered the question," smirked Astoria.

That gave Daphne reason to pause. Truth be told, she had enjoyed her time with Harry way more than she cared to admit. For no discernible reason, her opinion of Harry Potter had always inclined towards the negative side. Perhaps it was from all the years she'd spent in earshot of Draco's deluded rants. Or the inflated egos of most high-ranking Ministry officials and celebrities she encountered, all of whom were full of themselves.

"I didn't go into it with high hopes," began Daphne, talking to herself more than anything. "But so far, I've loved talking to him. Potter's a breath of fresh air and Merlin, he's got a sense of humour. Every fucking day at work, I've got to go and woo a bunch of bland, oversensitive dunderheads. With Potter, I can say whatever I want to, and he doesn't take it the wrong way or get offended. I don't know, it just feels like we're on the same page, you know?"

Her contemplation was interrupted by a series of barely suppressed giggles, courtesy of Astoria. Daphne looked over to see her younger sister staring at her, a look of delight on her face. "You haven't been loquacious about a chap since you spent an hour waxing lyrical about Zabini back in fifth year," she squealed, leading to a resumed barrage of projectiles from Daphne's side of the room.

"Does his breath smell nice," the blonde asked, sidestepping a hairbrush. "Do you hold hands when nobody's looking?"

"Have you fucked-" Astoria's luck ran out as a pillow caught her smack in the face but her plan seemed to have worked. It was a small price to pay and Daphne's vexation from dinner seemed to have abated.

"There's a special corner at Madam Puddifoot's for sappy clowns like you," she chided with a smile. "Hate to burst your bubble but there's nothing between Harry and I. The light-hearted banter is entertaining, but I suppose it's just a charade."

"Ever the optimist," remarked Astoria drily. "Stop being so cynical about it, there must be something to go on."

Daphne's mind jumped to a couple of instances when Harry had inadvertently let things slip through. Not any of the information she was looking for, but it was endearing all the same. "We're just looking for information. Well, at least he is. He's curious about father and his dealings. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Potter's agreement with father is over something else. He hasn't indicated any particular interest in me, anyway."

"Trust me, Daphne. If you have a good feeling about this, there's no harm in seizing the initiative and pushing on. Especially if he doesn't seem bothered by your approaches and reject you outright. If there's anybody who can understand and help you, it's Harry Potter."

* * *

A whole week later, there was still no light at the end of the tunnel for Harry Potter. The dearth of clues combined with the new albeit smaller cases that kept popping up meant that it wasn't long before the Auror Office was side-tracked. Harry found himself relegated to the confines of his office, signing off reports and keeping an eye on the everyday operations. Still, no trouble was better than more kidnappings and murders, he reassured himself.

"Sir, there's someone here to see you," Harry looked up to see his secretary, a young, impressionable lad named Oscar, poking his head into the office.

"Who is it this time? Reporters? Newspapermen? I have nothing to give them right now, you tell them that," he let out an exasperated sigh and turned his attention back to the tall stack of papers on his desk.

"Sir, you're not going to like this," to his annoyance, Oscar was still peeking in. The aid stepped aside to reveal the last person Harry expected to find entering his office. Ginny Weasley.

He rose to his feet and looked at the young woman speculatively. His ex-girlfriend looked better than ever. Slim and athletic, she wore her hair in a loose ponytail and displayed none of the fidgetiness that had plagued her through her early years at Hogwarts.

"Fancy seeing you here," murmured Harry, waiting until she'd settled into a chair before taking a seat himself.

"Hey, Harry. Sorry for dropping in unannounced. I heard about your accident and wanted to make sure you were doing okay," began Ginny. Though she carried herself with the laidback assurance common in professional athletes, Harry could tell that she was nervous.

"What are you doing here," came the flat question. "I mean, you never came to my office once while we were seeing each other. I'm sure you'll forgive my scepticism."

For what it was worth, she appeared abashed at his words. "Training camp ended a couple of days ago, so I had some time to come back home. The papers said you almost died."

Harry snorted and poured out two glasses of gin, pushing one towards her, well aware of her dislike for the drink. "Congratulations," he raised his glass in a toast. "It's well deserved, you'll make a fine skipper."

She smiled at him weakly and forced a sip of the clear liquid down her throat, grimacing. A look of speculation passed between them, as they threatened to slip into an awkward silence.

"I'm getting engaged," blurted out Ginny. "I thought you should know. That's why I'm here. Well, one of the reasons why I'm here."

If she was expecting to elicit a strong reaction from Harry, it never came. He responded to her words by refilling their glasses and staring at her speculatively. "I'm happy for you," was all he said and he refrained from asking who the man was. Harry could care enough, though knowing Ginny, he was willing to wager she'd picked another Quidditch player.

Harry relationships with almost all his friends had changed since the War had ended. This particular bond, however, had dissolved into nothingness. There was a time when watching Ginny with Dean had ignited fury as he'd never felt. That day, the knowledge that she would be spending the rest of her days in the arms of another man did nothing to him. If anything, he felt emptier and more distant than ever.

He caught Ginny's eye and knew she was thinking the same thing. If there was sadness between them, it wasn't for what could have been but rather for what had happened.

"What have you done to yourself, Harry," she whispered. "I have no right to ask this of you again but please, think of yourself for once. Get away, Harry. Get away from this death and destruction."

They'd been over it multiple times. Harry's determination to continue the battle against Voldemort's remaining servants and other criminals had not gone down well with Ginny, who wanted him to step away from putting himself in mortal peril once and for all. He suspected that she'd harboured dreams of them stepping on professional Quidditch pitches together and touring across the continent for tournaments. Ginny didn't share his reclusive tendencies nor his inclination to avoid spending extended periods outside the British realm. She was at home in front of the adoring audience and spectators in the stadiums and basked in the glow of a post-victory press conference.

"Tell that to Andromeda," replied Harry. "They burnt her house down and slit her throat. I'm sorry, Ginny but it's no good. There are some things I will not reconsider, and this is one of them."

"Have it your way," said Ginny, giving it up. "Just take care of yourself, that's all I ask of you."

"Likewise. Watch out for stray bludgers."

"Oh, I don't have to worry about those. Noah's a beater and a very good one," laughed Ginny. "He's my fiancé," she elaborated, seeing Harry raise his eyebrows. "But that's enough about me, what's been happening with you, Harry. Seeing anyone yet? The rumour mill has been quiet for a while, you know?"

Harry smirked, his mind trailing back to a conversation they'd had on his 17th birthday. "Dating opportunities are pretty thin on the ground."

Her startled expression indicated that Ginny remembered the words too but before she could respond, the familiar sounds of feeble protest trailed into the room.

" _Ma'am, I have strict instructions that he isn't to be disturbed. No visitors under any- "_

Harry groaned, in no doubt as to who was approaching.

" _Do you know who I am? Do you think I'd leave my department and come here if it weren't urgent?"_

" _No, ma'am. But please- "_

Daphne burst in through the door, a wide grin on her face, which was promptly wiped off by the sight that greeted her. Harry buried his face in his hands while Ginny stared at the new occupant, as though trying to place the face. In the background, Oscar gesticulated an apology for his utter failure as a protector of his boss' privacy.

Ever quick to adapt, Daphne appeared shocked for a moment before breaking into a euphoric smile. "Hello, Harry! I was beginning to fear you'd forgotten our plans for today," she chirped, sauntering into his office with the familiarity of a regular visitor. She looked down upon the seated Ginny, a mocking look of surprise on her pale features. "I'm sorry to interrupt but who might you be?"

Ginny reacted with the surprise expected of a national sports team captain used to being recognised all over the place. Of course, Daphne knew exactly who she was but wasn't thrilled to encounter the England chaser anyway.

"Ginny Weasley," she snapped, not bothering to ask for the rude intruder's name. "I ought to get going, take care, Harry."

"You too, Ginny. Congratulations again," he replied, shrugging apologetically. With a parting glare at Daphne, she exited the office, slamming the door after her.

"There ought to be a law against the likes of you," observed Harry as Daphne flung herself into Ginny's vacated seat, looking quite pleased with herself.

"Shut your griping, we both know you were looking for a quick way out of that situation."

She was right again, thought Harry. While Daphne's method wasn't the politest, he still was grateful for it. Once time had taken its course, he had nothing in common to discuss with Ginny. All that was left was old memories that he didn't care to revisit.

"I can't decide if I want to thank you or bar you from entering my office" he rebuked. "All the same, thank you, that wasn't the most comfortable of situations."

"What did she want anyway? I didn't know the two of you were still friends." The fact that Daphne seemed a tad more interested in the nature of his relationship with Ginny was not lost on him.

"What makes you think I'm friends with her? She just wanted to see how I was doing, though she also decided to inform me of her impending engagement."

"How considerate," she sneered. "If you don't mind me asking, what went down with the two of you. You don't have to answer but for the longest time, half the country expected you to end up marrying her."

"Just a difference of opinions," Harry replied vaguely. He contemplated for a minute and elaborated, "Ginny wanted a fresh start. I didn't find it that easy to leave the past behind. I don't blame her, she worried about my safety and the future. With her constant travelling and my round the clock working hours, we were bound to deviate onto separate paths once the difference of opinion arose."

Daphne nodded her gratitude, appreciating the truthful answer. "Even someone like you can do much better, Potter. While we're on the topic of banning me from your office, I'm afraid I'll have to deprive you of that pleasure. I'm leaving back to France next week, thought I might as well say goodbye,"

Harry blinked at her. While he hadn't been expecting anything in particular when she'd waltzed into his office, he hadn't expected her to be leaving either. With his agreement with Cyrus Greengrass in place, it was too late to turn back from the man. Doubtless, there would be more opportunities to extract information in the future without resorting to playing mind games with his daughter.

But something felt off. Harry wasn't certain what it was, but Daphne's announcement left a slightly sour taste in his mouth. He hadn't expected to feel anything. Cursing his unpredictable self, he forced himself to look into her shimmering eyes.

"What do you have lined up for the weekend?"

"Very good, Potter," she smiled softly. "There's still hope for you yet."

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for missing last week's update but I'm back at work and will only be getting busier from here on. It's safe to assume that I'll be updating every alternate weekend, do bear with me. As always, all criticism is welcome and thank you for reading. Stay safe!**


	6. A Relic From the Past

**WARNING: This chapter contains violence and substantial substance abuse.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: A Relic From the Past**

* * *

By the time the weekend arrived, Harry's anxiety had dissipated. Smith's failure to resurface meant there was no reason to celebrate, although the Auror Office was doing a stellar job of tailing Marcus Flint and his associates. For a change, Harry wasn't itching for action but he wasn't content to sit around idle either.

However, Friday saw him receive good news as his deployed team informed him that Flint seemed to have gathered a small group to assist him in the hunt for Smith. With the man's movements being tracked and no inconvenient surprises reported, Harry saw nothing wrong in looking forward to an uneventful few days.

There was also the small matter of his upcoming date with Daphne. While he didn't harbour any expectations, his agreement with the Greengrass patriarch meant that he could avoid playing games and prodding for information. He'd spent a good deal of time over the week attempting to deduce the woman's intentions but despite the brooding, he was none the wiser.

Deciding to take the blank slate approach and keep an open mind, Harry made himself presentable, slipped into a neat white shirt and apparated to Hermione's. He wanted to say hello to Teddy, having been unable to spend time with his godson over the week.

"You're wearing cologne," observed Hermione as he walked into the sitting room. "Miller Harris," she narrowed her eyes, leaving the unasked question hanging.

"Whoever that is, he sounds like one of those unsavoury folks you'd find in Knockturn Alley."

"Yes Hermione, you're right, I'm going out," Harry rolled his eyes. "Where's Teddy," he asked, making haste as he saw her lean forward in her seat. He wasn't eager to explain his newfound friendship with Daphne, if he could even call it that.

"He wasn't doing too well," answered Ron. "Hermione gave him a potion and one of those new-fangled pills you imbeciles seem to enjoy taking. The kid's fast asleep."

"Thanks, Hermione, tell him I said hey and that I hope he's feeling better tomorrow. I should get going. I have nothing to do this weekend, so I'll drop by and take him out for a bit."

"Not so fast, Harry," she cut in, killing his hopes of a quick escape. "Don't you want to tell us where you're going? I'm sure Ron's just dying to know."

"Huh? No, I'm not. You go ahead and push off, mate- ouch!"

Cornered, Harry had no choice but to relent. "I'm seeing Daphne for dinner," he admitted, keeping his tone light.

"Merlin, I don't know what you see in those Muggle women. I wager it's frightfully dull," that earned Ron another slap on his arm.

"There's nothing wrong with Muggle women, you obnoxious prat. He's talking about Daphne Greengrass."

That caught Ron's undivided attention. "Greengrass? THE Daphne Greengrass? Fucking hell, you're moving up, aren't you? She's in the upper echelon of the Ministry, Percy can't shut up about her."

"Yeah, I know, I happen to work there," replied Harry but Ron didn't care. "How did the absolute fuck did that happen? I don't blame you, she's as tidy as they come. My point is, what's she doing with a scrawny git like you?"

Harry's indignation remained unexpressed as the chain on his neck sounded off. "Of all the days," he grumbled, only to jump to his feet as the chain's vibrations tripled in frequency. The maximum urgency signal or the magical equivalent of a code-red alert.

"They've found Smith and there's trouble," he said urgently, rushing for the door.

Ron shared a look with Hermione, who nodded. "Need some help, mate?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. Ron hadn't offered to help him out since he'd left his post at the Ministry. Not that Harry needed it, but the ex-Auror had insisted that his exit from the armed forces remain permanent. Perhaps it was the fact that Andromeda was involved that made Ron change his mind but whatever the reason, Harry was glad for the company.

With a parting wave to an anxious looking Hermione, the old friends took off into the night.

* * *

They re-appeared on a wide road, an enormous shadow hanging over them. An Auror in plain robes stepped out from behind a tree and hasted towards them.

"I was following Graham Montague," the man wasted no time with formalities. "He was moving fast and joined a group, looking to be ten strong. Couldn't have been more than seven minutes ago. They drew wands and moved into the Monument. Do you want me to call for reinforcements?"

"No. Leave them to me. Good work, stand by and make sure you aren't seen. They might have spotters hanging around."

"Sir," the man nodded and dispersed, sulking into the night. Drawing his wand, Harry waved it over his formal outfit and replaced it with the trademark Auror armour. Dragonhide, gloves and boots, all of which had basic protective jinxes and protections sewn into the fabric. Beside him, Ron prepared himself before turning to Harry and grabbing his shoulder.

"You know the deal. I'll follow you to whatever end. But no killing. I won't take another life."

Harry stared at him hard. Ron was yet to exorcise his demons from the War. "Agreed."

With that, they stepped into the enormous looming shadow and looked to the sky.

After the conclusion of the War, the Memorial Monument had established itself as the most unique structure in Wizarding Britain. An architectural marvel, the design won plaudits from all corners of the magical population across the country. Contrary to popular belief, its magnificence wasn't a result of a desire to honour the martyrs with a grand structure but rather, the sheer number of losses suffered over the course of the conflict

In watered-down terms, the Memorial looked like a cross between a spiralling Greek ruin and the maze of the Triwizard Tournament. From afar, it resembled a dark green cylinder, dotted with pillars and headstones. A tall flight of steps leads to a pair of entwined winding paths, snaking up across three levels, each lined with high, dense vegetation and rising pillars. Such was the denseness of the hedges that it was impossible for sunlight to penetrate them. Certain stretches of the paths even required lanterns during the daytime, for visibility.

The levels added convenience and ease of navigation, for each floor was dedicated to people who had passed at a point of time or location in the War. At the highest point, the spiralling brick paths levelled out into a flat plain, where lay the remains of the fighters who perished at the Battle of Hogwarts. It was a testament to the hard-won freedom and equality in Wizarding Britain, as Purebloods were laid to rest beside the remains of Muggle-borns, united by purpose and magic.

There was no uniformity of tombs inside the Memorial. Each person whose life had been snatched away by the Dark Lord and his servants had a place inside the structure. An assortment of tiny cenotaph like stones, tombs, gravestones and plaques could be found on each level. The surviving families of the victims had been allowed to dictate the appearance of the crowning stones that marked every grave. Even in cases where the people were buried elsewhere or the bodies could not be retrieved, symbols of tribute and remembrance were erected, some as simple as a tiny headstone.

This randomness added to the paradoxical look of the carefully planned Memorial, as did the twin paths which appeared to overlap yet never meet at their closest points and stretched away from one another at their farthest. At some parts, the pillars and collapsed rocks gave the impression of being indoors, while a few steps later, the ruins faded to reveal the sky. It was neither here nor there. For all its anomalies, the silence and tranquillity of the Memorial were unmatched. During the night-time, as Harry and Ron looked up at the looming ruin, it could have passed for a haunting dark sphere, punctuated by the light from the fires within. A surreal and indescribable sight that had to be witnessed to be believed.

As the duo approached the looming stairs, the tiny spots of light flickering across the structure went off, as if on cue. Plunged into pitch darkness, they shared a look, nodded and split up, heading towards the twin paths, each beginning at separate entrances. After facing innumerable confrontations together, Harry and Ron had textbook awareness of each other's strengths, weaknesses and tendencies.

They attributed their success to the unique form of communication they had developed together. Magical security and forces did not possess the likes of intercoms and handless communication devices. Improvisation was a must if two Aurors were to be on the same page. Without communication, failure in an operation was inevitable.

Inside the labyrinth's foliage, Flint rallied his troops. "Alright, Higgs, you're with me. There's no way out of here, we've got Smith cornered. He's going to head for the top and we'll be right behind. Montague split everyone up across the paths and floors. All we need to do is stall them till I get my hands on Smith."

The group separated, with Terrence Higgs and Flint joined by another of their team while Montague gathered the remaining six wizards. "Marcus, what do we do about Potter," he whispered.

"Don't kill Potter if you can help it. They wouldn't even give us a trial. Kill the spare, that should distract Potter for a bit. We have the numbers, the high ground and the cover of darkness, they don't stand a chance."

"Assuming Smith is headed to the top, we've got three floors to defend. I saw them split up. Stick two on the side Potter's climbing up from," Montague drew up the battle plan. "Three people on each of the first two floors, I'll take the third while Flint and Higgs make their way to the top. The lads on top, I want you looking down. See if you can get a clear shot at them. The quicker we get rid of Weasley, the more attention we can direct at Potter. Wickham, you take the first floor, Shelby's team takes second base and I'll hold down the third. Let's go!"

As the awaiting wizards went about setting their ambush, Harry knew he was walking into a trap. He was under no illusion about who held the advantage in the battle. The difference between muggle and magical warfare was as stark as the contrast between guerrilla and open battles. However, there was one feature common across all types of confrontations. Nobody enjoyed fighting in darkness. Both sides found themselves hindered but the odds were always stacked against the group which was forced to move and cover ground. With Flint's squad holding the high ground, Harry knew that he faced an uphill task.

And so, it began. Ron adopted a crouching stance as he inched his way up towards the first level. His movements were slow but decisive as he took cover behind a mound of rubble before darting behind the next headstone, making sure to sprint on his toes. As the pathway flattened, he was faced with a choice. Make the first move and reveal himself or attempt a diversion to bait whoever was waiting into attacking. Never one to dawdle, he broke into a sprint and launched himself over the hump of the path. There was no warm welcome, instead, a flash of green light hurtled towards him.

The killing curse missed its mark, as Ron had taken refuge behind a pillar. "Blimey, they aren't playing around," he muttered to himself. The risky entry had served its purpose though, as it had allowed him to gauge the direction from where the killing curse had been cast. Steadying himself, he stepped back into sight, drawing his wand.

" _Bombarda Maxima_ ," he whispered.

Ron's aim was true, and a large cenotaph crumbled on impact with the overpowered exploding charm. Taken by surprise, the wizard lurking behind yelled as a shower of debris and rock rained on him. Before he could recover from his shock, he was flung back through the air as the red burst of the disarming spell caught him in the chest. Catching the spinning wand in his free hand, Ron waved his own weapon twice, paralysing the disarmed man and chaining him to the nearest pillar for good measure.

One down and three to go, thought Ron, as he stared across the level. The night was misty, and visibility was a near zero. He considered checking on Harry but dismissed the thought. The construction of the pathways meant that the maximum separation between them occurred near every level. Deciding to stick to his route, he continued his way but not before pulling out his chain and sending out a single vibration.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement as the sensory signal came through on his own chain. In a world without electrical devices, light was a dead giveaway in a scrimmage. Spells that produced light risked revealing the caster's location and could be seen by enemies. Beams of light in a direction could reveal the location of the person receiving the message too.

The chains eliminated the dilemma of communication by allowing Aurors to send signals without the risk of messages being intercepted. Different frequencies and intensities of vibrations carried different messages, such as indicating success, failure or an urgent plea for aid. The only drawback of the chains was the enormous amount of time, effort and trials required to create them.

In Harry's opinion, the chain system was the most useful of Hermione's many notable accomplishments. If only they'd been developed earlier, the Memorial wouldn't have been as large as it was.

Harry's approach did not mirror Ron's all-action, careful style. He strolled up the path, a cushioning charm on his shoes making sure there weren't any tell-tale footsteps. Aware that the waiting attackers couldn't resort to using light to find him without giving themselves away, he chose to level the playing field. Casting a powerful disillusionment charm on himself, he picked a couple of bricks and threw them over onto the platform, as a diversion.

Nothing.

Nonplussed, Harry transfigured some more stones into a pair of shoes and sent them trotting over the bend and waited. In the eerie silence, the footsteps from the makeshift shoes echoed across the level.

Unable to control themselves any longer and confident in the cover of darkness, the waiting wizards ventured out from their hiding spot. The poor souls never stood a chance. No sooner had Connor Wickham sprung up than he found himself on the floor groaning in agony, his hand cut clean off his wand arm. The second wizard swerved around looking to help his companion, only for his own chest to be sliced open in a mass of blood and skin.

Harry had perfected the technique of dual casting. He'd slashed his wand upwards before dragging it back down and continuing the motion, casting not one but two Sectumsempra curses. Severus Snape's dark invention had established itself as a firm favourite of his. The spell caused enough damage to immobilize and could not be healed quickly but didn't cause immediate death either. He walked past the crippled assailants, silencing and binding them with a flick of the wrist.

Ron didn't need a confirmatory signal. The shrieks told him all he needed to know. Invigorated, he bounded up onto the second level, abandoning all pretence at stealth. The running leap brought him face to face with William Shelby, a well-known nuisance who was wanted in a bunch of extortion cases.

" _Confringo_!"

Ron wasted no time getting on the offensive as he sent a blasting curse at the blurry outline of his foe. The dark-skinned wizard dived out of the way and rolled over, yelling, " _Crucio_!"

The man's athletic ability took Ron by surprise. For a person in the middle of a roll, Shelby's accuracy was outstanding , and the curse missed its target by a whisker. Running to his right, Ron tried his luck with a full body-bind but was thwarted by a stray headstone.

Left exposed in the open, he cast a precautionary shield charm and looked for a hiding spot. Before he could move any further, another Cruciatus curse cracked the shield open and grazed his neck. The pain was excruciating, and he gnashed his teeth to stop a yell escaping his lips. His opponent took advantage of Ron's misery and caught him in the ankle with a cutting curse, drawing blood and a loud grunt of pain.

It had been long since Ron had felt the unforgivable curse carve into him and it gave him renewed strength. Determined to seize back the initiative, he dropped the idea of hiding and began to throw spells in Shelby's general direction.

The ruffian wilted under the furious assault. A Reductor curse shattered his fragile cover. He ducked a disarming spell only to catch a conjunctivitis curse to the face. Clawing at his eyes, he scrambled around the stone floor before the Levicorpus jinx turned his world upside down and a stupefying charm brought an end to the duel

Sweat pouring down his face, Ron turned his wand to his own ankle, muttering, " _Ferula_." A makeshift bandage wrapped itself around the deep incision and halted the bleeding. He bound the unconscious Shelby, tossed the man's wand into the darkness and sent out the signal once more.

On the third level, Graham Montague paced circles, his brow furrowed in suppressed fear. The screams had reached him too. He was under no illusion about their chances against Harry Potter. The man's reputation was legendary. However, stalling him had seemed like a viable option but he was having second thoughts about the plan. As Flint and Higgs crept up towards the summit, Montague decided to check on Shelby's team. The imperious hedges made it impossible to catch a clear sight of the lower levels and left him with no choice but to descend.

Making his way to the left, the side from where Harry approached, he secured an advantageous location around the curve of the path. It gave him a relatively clear view of the section, while the elevation meant that he couldn't be seen. Montague caught sight of Harry at once, walking around without a care in the world. Shelby's cronies had seen him too, judging by their purposeful stalking in the Head Auror's direction, as though they could hardly believe how easy it was.

One of the men sent binding ropes snaking towards the strutting wizard only for them to pass clean through the target's midriff. Montague's blood went cold. It wasn't Harry Potter; it was an illusion! He knew what was coming a moment before it happened. Out of the blackness, from behind his own conjured image, Harry struck.

Despite Montague's anticipation, the ferocity of the assault shocked him. Except for the late Alastor Moody, most Aurors attempted to take criminals prisoner. In the rare instances when forced to kill, they did it quick and swift.

Harry Potter didn't seem to have got the memo. An unfamiliar spell, cloudy purple in colour, spewed from his wand and ripped the first man's spine out his back. The wizard was dead before he hit the floor. The first body hadn't even dropped when the goon's partner staggered backwards, blood pouring down his throat. As Harry struck the wailing man down, Montague realised that the spells were modified versions of the bone-breaking and cutting curses. Through an innovative tweak, Harry had amplified the effects! Montague's moment of realisation was short-lived as a stunning spell shot towards him, seemingly out of nowhere.

Fleeing to the third level, he felt the bile rise in his chest. Potter had known he was watching all along. There was no other explanation. The Auror hadn't even been facing Montague when he cast the spell. "It's impossible, it's isn't bloody fair," the terrified wizard said to himself.

Unknown to him, Harry's grasp on his magic gave him an advantage that was indeed unfair. With his heightened sensing and awareness, Harry didn't need light to know what lay ahead. It was the reason behind his relaxed demeanour. Through his ascent towards the summit, Harry had been aware of how many people waited in ambush on each floor, as well as the tentative hiding spots.

Meanwhile, unlike the rest of his crew, Flint had been successful in his endeavour. He was in the process of interrogating a kneeling Zacharias Smith when Montague came tearing into sight.

"Potter's on his way up here," he panted. "They took care of everyone else; it was a massacre."

"Fuck," muttered Flint and turned to his hostage. "You're trying my patience, Smith. I won't ask you again. Who helped you booby-trap the house?"

Zacharias Smith didn't answer. The blonde wizard's face wore a blank look, while his hands were bound. Mistaking the lack of emotion for impertinence, Flint struck him across the face, sending him crashing to the floor.

"We don't have time for this," he spat. "Apparition isn't an option; this place is warded. Montague, you're with me. Higgs, we're depending on you. Let Michael here keep an eye on Smith. You face off against Weasley. Once you've taken care of him, we'll evacuate down that end."

The men took their positions, shielding Michael and Smith. It wasn't long before Harry Potter trotted into their sight, holding his hands up. "Flint," he called out. "This is your last chance. Give me Smith and I promise you a degree of leniency."

"Keep your promises, Potter and stay where you are. Another step further and Smith dies."

"You wouldn't dare, Flint. Step away and you have a chance of leaving Azkaban alive. You wouldn't risk a murder charge now, would you?"

"Try me," Flint yelled back, while he gestured at Montague to move in on the defenceless Auror. "My tolerance wears thin. Let us leave in peace or lose Smith forever."

"You leave me with no choice, Flint," replied Harry. In the cover of darkness, Montague raised his wand. "Don't say I didn't- "

He broke off mid-sentence, springing into a backflip. The acrobatic move was well-timed, for barely had the motion been completed when an ugly, dark red curse whizzed past the spot where his exposed torso had been.

Harry had no time to recover. He dropped to the floor just as he completed the flip, dodging Flint's body-bind curse. He noted that the duo had refrained from using the unforgivable curses.

Montague and Flint were accomplished wizards in their own right and launched a coordinated assault, working in tandem. However, their volley of dark curses never touched their foe.

Despite being outnumbered, Harry held his own. Rather than throwing curses, he delved into his box of transfiguration tricks. Stones served as shields, shattering when struck by the violent spells. The pieces of rubble morphed into daggers and ropes, arrowing back in the direction from whence they came. It was an exhibition of simplicity. Harnessing his surroundings, he blocked the assault and used his opponent's curses to create his own tools of attack.

Finally, it was Montague who cracked first. His nerves already shredded from witnessing the malicious murder of his associates, he began to lose hope. Harry was just too quick. Despite his opponents casting simultaneously, he didn't seem pressed for time. While the dark wizards resorted to curses and jinxes, Harry's offensive strategy was built around replying through numerous objects. It was harder to deal with multiple knives travelling at high velocity compared to a solitary burst from a spell.

A yell sounded through the banging and crashing of the battle. Risking a glance, Montague saw Higgs fall at Ron's hands, cradling what looked to be a broken arm. As Harry sent Flint's freezing charm hurtling back towards him, Montague threw caution to the wind.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry sidestepped the killing curse and turned towards the trembling wizard; his face hard. Disregarding Flint, he fired off a salvo of spells. The bone-breaking curse shattered Montague's flimsy shield and the impediment hex froze him in place. Looking at the shell-shocked man straight in the eye, Harry whispered, " _Exanimo_!"

A faint gurgle and the colour drained from Montague's face. His frozen body shuddered against the effects of Harry's suffocating curse, before slumping to the floor, lifeless.

Flint looked about him with disbelieving eyes, making no attempt to continue the duel. His childhood friend lay dead, the life sucked out of him. Michael seemed to be unconscious, his arm twisted in an unnatural position. The din had ceased, and the sinister silence had returned. Stuck between the two advancing wizards, Flint dropped his wand and fell to his knees in a sign of surrender.

In the midst of the chaos, Smith had remained static. He still had the same blank look on his face and his unblinking eyes bore into the distance. A wand lay beside him, snapped in half.

Ron's gleaming Jack Russell Terrier Patronus disappeared into the night sky, as they called for reinforcements. He walked towards Harry, his expression inscrutable. "Are you alright, mate?"

"No trouble. What about you?"

"You didn't have to do that to him," said Ron, the masked disapproval evident in his voice. "You didn't have to kill him in the first place, Harry," he almost continued but decided against it. "You're better than you've ever been," he complimented, changing the topic. "Bloody backflips and the lot. Been putting in the work, have you?"

Harry ignored him. He hadn't paid heed to it in the spur of the battle but as the adrenaline wore off, his conscious mind began to work. Ron and Hermione always offered scathing criticism of his proclivity for violence and dealing out deaths that could be avoided.

Over the years, Harry had grown to distrust Azkaban and its guards. For the longest time, he'd been a vocal supporter of the idea that it was time to do away with the island fortress and sever ties with the Dementors. Despite numerous motions in the Wizengamot, the lack of alternatives meant that Azkaban and its Dementors endured.

The Dark Lord's reign had taught him to avoid putting people in the prison if he could help it. Voldemort's presence, destructive as it was, had served to keep a check on unorganised crime. The ambitions of small-time rogues couldn't flourish, for fear of catching the Death Eaters' attention.

With the defeat of the dark forces, there were renewed opportunities for local outlaws across magical Britain. Though many in the Ministry thought it far-fetched, Harry wasn't captivated by the idea of dumping all the accomplished delinquents in a single spot, where an aspiring mastermind could engage in a recruitment plan.

However, at the heart of the death and destruction was Harry's bitterness. He would never admit it to his friends, but he was tired of appealing to the better nature of people, only for it to come back and bite him.

His propensity to give people second chances had waned. Why show mercy to those who wouldn't hesitate to strike him down without a second thought. The 'noble' approach had already cost him Hedwig's life. "I was holding back until fucking Montague decided to throw a killing curse at me," said Harry carelessly.

Ron resisted the temptation to point out that a killing curse from Harry's own end would have achieved the same result. The trio had been over it before and the conversations inevitably ended with Harry refusing to discuss the matter further. Setting his apprehension aside, he joined in as they started on Flint.

"Talk," said Harry, getting to the point, hands twirling his wand menacingly. The gesture wasn't lost on Flint, who gulped and looked dejected. Nonetheless, he summoned the last vestige of courage and looked his subduers in the eye. "I want a deal, Potter. Why, if anything, I helped you. I've led you to Smith and as you see, there isn't a scratch on him. I deserve to be shown leniency," he stammered.

Ron reached an arm out to restrain Harry but his fears were unfounded. Kneeling to Flint's eye level, Harry spoke quietly and with controlled anger.

"You're in no position to argue, Flint. I grow weary of your kind. Too long have you lot tested my restraint. Listen up because I'm only going to ask you once. How did you find Smith? Who set you on his trail?"

"We were working alone! I wanted revenge-"

Flint's excuse for an explanation was cut short as his windpipe constricted. He began to panic, his eyes bulging while his hands grabbed at his throat.

"That's enough, Harry," Ron reprimanded, his voice stern.

Still, Harry didn't let up. Flint's eyes began to water and gave in, wheezing out, "I'll talk! I'll tell you all I know."

The pressure on his throat disappeared and he collapsed onto the dusty floor. Admitting defeat, Flint pulled himself up and began to speak.

"I promise, we didn't find him on our own. Montague received an unsigned owl a couple of days ago, claiming Smith would be lurking around the Monument tonight. I stationed two of my men to keep watch and sure enough, they saw him and alerted the rest of us."

"Whose idea was this," interjected Ron. "Why were you so desperate to find Smith anyway. You could have left him to the Auror Office, they have a good track record."

"That was on Shelby," came the sullen response. "The idea came from him but we all supported it. You lot aren't the only ones who care for your friends, you know?" The whole incident with Potter was suspicious, how does Pucey lose his life while everyone else survives."

"You're hiding something," whispered Harry suddenly. His eyes were locked with Flint's, taking advantage of the man's lowered mental defences. "The truth, if you please."

Flint hesitated and shrugged, "it's hopeless. The letter also promised a substantial monetary reward if we took care of Smith. The boys were up for it but I wasn't so sure. An anonymous person promising money in exchange for murder isn't new but it all seemed so abrupt. There was no name, no trace, no hint on the letter, I checked it the best I could."

The two friends shared a look. There was no lie in Flint's eyes. Someone wanted to silence Zacharias Smith for good, the question was, who? The entire operation reeked of desperation.

Perplexed, Harry turned back to Flint. "What was Smith doing when you found him?"

"The bloke's barmy, he didn't come up here to escape by the looks of it. We found him digging right over-"

They never found out what Smith was up to, for at that moment, a jagged knife tip burst out of Flint's forehead. The man dropped to the floor, dead, his lips still parted mid-sentence. They spun around, eyes darting across the darkness of the level. Harry's eyes fell on the body of Terrence Higgs lying in a pool of his own blood. A dark stain running from one ear to the other indicated that his throat was slit.

Zacharias Smith was gone.

"Oye, stop right there," yelled Ron, drawing his wand at the opposite end of the floor. In the faint moonlight, they made out the silhouettes of two people – Smith, who was being supported and half-dragged by a cloaked, hooded figure.

" _Stupefy_ ," roared Ron, but Smith had already been tossed unceremoniously down the slope. In the moment of impending defeat, Harry reached out with high magic and to his utter horror, felt nothing. There was no trace of a magical aura around the hooded figure.

Ron was running towards the edge but it was too late. The figure disappeared down the slope, grabbed Smith, jumped through the hedge and off the path, to what looked like certain death.

On closer examination, Ron found a rope-like cord tied to a headstone and passing through the shrub wall. Flint's guard, Michael, was slumped against a nearby pillar, his throat slashed and his cloak soaked.

As he finished looking around, echoing footsteps were heard bounding up to the summit. A group of six panting wizards came into sight.

"A fine lot of Aurors you are," snarled Ron. "Took your own sweet time getting here, I see."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley," the man at the front of the group spoke up. "We were cleaning up. You and Mr. Potter did a thorough job. We found six dead bodies on the lower floors."

"What! You must be barking mad! They should be alive. I'm telling you, I left two men alive."

"I'm sorry, we double-checked. The two men on this side had their throats slit. Looked like the cutting curse to me."

Ron swore and ran back to Harry. In the cover of darkness and using the battle and Flint's subsequent interrogation, someone had cleaned up after them. Of Flint's group of ten, not one witness survived.

"Mate, you've got a situation on your hands. They're dead. The entire lot. Our man killed them all. Well, the ones you didn't kill, that is."

There was no response. Harry was bent over Flint's corpse, frozen still. In his hand, he gripped the silver dagger that had passed clean through the man's head.

"Are you alright there," prodded Ron but Harry didn't move. He continued to stare intently at the dagger, his face white as chalk.

_Flesh, Blood and Bone._

"It cannot be," he whispered to himself.

_Peter Pettigrew's screams echoing around Little Hangleton Graveyard._

He'd seen this before. Up close.

_A flash of silver and stinging pain in his arm._

His blood ran cold. There was no doubt about it. It had been twelve years, but the memory was crystal clear in his head. The jagged edge, the serpent carved onto the flat surface of the blade and the shining silver handle, there was no mistake. He was staring at Wormtail's dagger. The same blade that had pierced his skin and led to Voldemort's return.

"What are you going to do," asked Ron, flummoxed. They appeared to be caught in the drift between two forces vying for Zacharias Smith. Anonymous letters, a hooded stranger and paid assassins, the rot ran deep.

Harry stood up and waved a hand over his enchanted uniform, replacing it with a plain white shirt and pants. Adding cleaning and freshening charms on his face, he heaved a sigh and pocketed the dagger.

"Go on that blasted date, of course. Be a lad and make sure they get rid of the bodies, will you?"

* * *

A cloud of smoke enveloped Daphne's head as she pulled another drag from the long, thin cigarette between her fingers. Not a frequent smoker by any means, she made an exception when she was back home and was forced to tolerate Cyrus.

Clad in a short, sangria red dress and a black fur coat, she was dressed for a date that appeared increasingly unlikely to take place with each passing minute. It had been an enormous surprise when the Stag had shimmered through her window and conveyed a blunt message from Harry. The mention of an emergency had piqued her interest more than his apology for tardiness.

As the clock ticked past ten, she'd given up on him showing up and decided to enjoy a rare smoke. To avoid being seen by her father or Astoria, her usual smoking spot was under a tree, outside the Manor walls. The pleasant head rush from the nicotine had barely kicked in when Harry Potter appeared at the gates. Despite his neat attire, he appeared haggard and shaky on his feet. As Daphne watched, he leaned against the gate bars, steadied himself and buried his face in his hands.

Before she could check on him, he sniffed, straightened up and walked over to her hidden spot, his wand drawn. "You look like you need this more than I do," she said softly, offering him the cigarette as she revealed herself. She noticed that he'd known she was there, although she chose to attribute it to the scented odour of the fag.

Harry looked about him self-consciously, as though the display of weakness embarrassed him. The haunted look melted from his face, as he shook his head, declining her offer.

"Don't be ridiculous," she insisted, smirking as he grabbed it and took a deep puff. "You've smoked before," she observed. The lack of reaction and violent coughing said as much.

"Where did you catch that habit," he asked, blowing out a ring of smoke with well-practised ease. The tobacco seemed to do him good and he appeared at ease. "Sorry I'm late, something at work required my attention."

"I could ask you the same thing. Hard as it may be for you to believe, I have muggle acquaintances back in France. It isn't a habit either, I only smoke when I'm back home."

Daphne's urge to question him was overpowering but she desisted, knowing he wouldn't take it well. Harry seemed to have recovered his usual collectedness. He passed the cigarette back, giving her a quick look-over.

"Do you have something in mind? You look great, by the way."

"Don't I always," she quipped, drawing a chuckle out of him. "Well, seeing you make the decisions the last time, I thought I'd make plans for tonight. Let's see, I wanted to do dinner, but all things considered, perhaps you're in the mood for something stronger?"

Harry nodded and shrugged. "Lead the way. Do I really have a choice, anyway?"

"Of course not."

With Daphne handling the apparating, they reappeared on a bustling road that Harry was sure he'd been to before. He was spared the effort of sifting through his memory by the sight of an old, rundown pub. They were in Abergavenny, he realised with a start. It was the same pub where the unfortunate, late Madam Marsh had disembarked from the Knight Bus, the night he'd blown his Aunt Marge up. To his surprise, Daphne began to walk towards the establishment, paying no heed to its less than welcoming façade.

"Uh, I've seen that pub before. It isn't your kind-"

"Oh, be quiet and have some faith. Do you think I'd steer you wrong," she replied, smiling to herself as Harry took the chance to move closer. After his distant behaviour during their investigation of Smith's abode, it was a pleasant change.

An oversized bouncer stood watch at the untidy door, brandishing his wand as a fencer wielded a sabre. The absence of activity and people outside the pub seemed to make his presence superfluous. However, he gave them a brusque nod and indicated a minuscule doorway hidden behind his massive frame.

They found themselves in a dark, cramped room, filled with bustling witches and wizards clamouring to enter a polished door. An agitated looking man attempted to appease the crowd; his arms spread wide to keep them at bay.

Daphne grabbed Harry's arm and pushed through the mass of bodies, to the front. The barman opened his mouth to berate them but paused at the sight of the couple.

"Miss Greengrass! A pleasure to see you again," he greeted, impervious to the dirty glares they were receiving from the rest of the people. He peered at Harry, recognition dawning on his face, "It can't be Mr…Dursley! Welcome, welcome! If you'd follow me, please."

Daphne turned around and gave Harry a knowing look. The Confundus charm left distinct signs and the host's sudden pause, momentary disorientation and abrupt change in behaviour were too obvious at such close range.

As they walked through the door, Harry was assaulted by blaring music, the drone of conversation and flashing enchanted neon lights. A large board at the entrance read 'The Sozzled Sphinx". Harry was willing to wager good money that the establishment was run by a muggle-born or even an American. It was the magical equivalent of an upper-class club though the stark-naked men and women twirling on the numerous poles suggested the entertainment was not limited to simple servings of gin and tonic and music.

While he was no stranger to magical pubs, Harry had never been to a high-end ribald establishment such as the one he found himself in. By the looks of it, The Sozzled Sphinx was a playground where the wealthy and the rich left their brains and worries at the door and partook in some good old debauchery.

Nonetheless, the service was competent. A steward led them to one of the less boisterous corners and set up muffling and privacy charms. Harry kept his head bowed all the way, although Daphne did not hesitate to offer nods of greeting towards a couple of tables. He was mildly surprised to recognise Lord Flint, a row of empty pints at his table and a woman on each arm. Clearly unaware of his heir's demise, he wouldn't look so cheerful in a few hours, thought Harry.

"So, you've never been here, after all," came the smug remark as they settled into their seats. The Muffliato charm ensured they were in their own bubble, with no distractions or interruptions.

"No, I haven't, although your familiarity with this place is more intriguing than my lack of it."

"Astoria introduced me to this place. As I mentioned, she likes to live to the fullest. Don't fool yourself into believing I'm a regular though."

Harry turned around and looked at an aged witch clapping with delight as a chiselled man performed on a pole. "I'm sure she does," he muttered.

"Don't pretend to be callow, Potter. A strenuous night calls for liberal intoxication," she said, pulling out a rolled spliff. She caught him eyeing it and shook her head. "I know you smoke, don't even bother denying it."

Lighting the joint, Daphne sat up and looked him in the eye. "What's with the Confundus and the hanging head, you never seem like someone looking to hide."

"I can't afford to be seen in a place like this. Merlin, for all I know, it doesn't even have the appropriate license. Imagine a picture of me ends up on the morning Prophet, surrounded by a bunch of people I should probably be booking."

She didn't bother replying to the piss-poor justification and passed him the spliff. He looked at her expectant expression and took a drag, exhaling through his nose.

The effect was instantaneous. He felt the relaxing blankness go straight to the head and spread down his spine. Harry's shoulders relaxed and he nodded in acknowledgement. "Thanks, I needed that. It's been a rough night."

The admission was a start and to her credit, Daphne surprised him by refusing to pick into the topic further. They ordered their drinks and settled into a comfortable routine, passing the slow-burning blunt between them.

"Well, however, your night went, at least you got to show your Patronus off," remarked Daphne. "It was interesting to actually witness it after everyone at Hogwarts kept talking it up."

"You don't seem too impressed? Not that I care, it used to be annoying how everyone underestimated me before changing their minds just because I could do it. Even the bloody Wizengamot was up in arms about it."

"It's a difficult spell, I'll give you that. But as Lockhart showed, one spell doesn't make a wizard. Why a stag though?"

They were interrupted by the arrival of their drinks. Harry had chosen to stick with his usual gin although Daphne's beverage was bright green and sizzled menacingly. Harry threw her a wary look as they clinked their glasses. He downed his drink in one go, winced and called for another.

It was an infrequent feeling but Harry found himself open to talking about the past and reminiscing, although he wasn't sure if it was because of the company or the substance influence.

"My dad was an Animagus," he revealed, venturing into uncharted territory. "His form was a stag, that's where it comes from. What about you?"

She lit another blunt, took a drag and held her breath, downing the questionable-looking beverage. Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter as she exhaled, her eyes watering. "I take my words back, you could pass off as a permanent resident here."

"It's a seal though I still find it easier to cast the charm while I'm alone and in a peaceful environment," she answered, throwing a filthy gesture in response to his dig. "I wish they'd included it in the curriculum at Hogwarts. I've seen many of the students cast it in inconvenient situations, so maybe it's just me."

"No, it's not. I mean, of course your incompetence contributes," he jibed. "But I helped them out a bit, back in fifth year. It took them two years of practice to perfect it," he noted her vague understating reference to the Battle of Hogwarts, where Neville and the DA had been instrumental in driving back the Dementors.

Daphne seized the opportunity. It wasn't every day that Harry Potter spoke about his mysterious time at Hogwarts. "So, there was some truth to Malfoy's drivel about that 'army' you built? I always thought he was taking this piss to make his squad seem like a bigger deal than it was."

"He wasn't wrong," admitted Harry, mimicking Daphne's 'drag and chug' motion. "You know, there must have been some truth to most of Draco's tales though I'm certain it must have been lost in the copious exaggeration. But yes, we foolishly called it 'Dumbledore's Army' and went behind Umbridge's back to try and prepare ourselves for war."

"Umbridge was a daft bint, the only thing worse than her simpering was that horrendous cardigan. I know you don't view Azkaban in a favourable light but I'm glad she got that life sentence. It was completely deserved."

Dolores Umbridge had been tried and convicted with the first group of Death Eaters, after the War. The jury was unanimous and the woman was serving out a life sentence in the island prison.

"But I'm impressed, Potter," she continued, downing her fourth drink. "I admit, I didn't believe you'd make a passable teacher but subsequent events show that you'd probably succeed at anything you put your mind to."

"That's the marijuana talking, but thank you, Miss Greengrass. That's the nicest thing you've said to me."

"Oh, get over yourself, you big prune. You know I don't mind you using my name. Merlin, people who put up a respectful front without meaning any of it sicken me."

She was definitely feeling the high, decided Harry. He wasn't in a position to comment though, with how far gone he felt. It was an addictive feeling. His head was light as he closed his eyes and rolled his neck, inhaling the fumes. The acidic taste in his mouth didn't bother him and for once, Harry felt like there was nothing wrong with the world. No memories, no emptiness, just the blissful numbness.

A part of him was aware that it was a fleeting coping mechanism but Harry was content to keep going at it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed talking to someone as much, without having to fake emotion or rack his brain for a topic to continue the conversation.

"I want to get some fresh air," announced Daphne, jumping to her feet and cutting through his hazy reverie. He couldn't blame her. They'd been chain-smoking and downing drinks for over an hour, some respite was in order.

The rooftop had an extension charm placed on it and it was a good thing too, for there were numerous couples tucked away in dark corners, most of them kissing furiously while others spoke in hushed tones. Fortunately, there was ample space and Daphne led him to a secluded spot. They stood in silence, looking into the night sky.

"In all my life, this is the one place in Wizarding Britain that's made me feel like I'm truly back in the Muggle world."

"You're welcome," she murmured, pressing into his side. Surprising himself, Harry wrapped an arm gently around her waist, as though he were handling glass and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't object. Despite all the alcohol and smoke impeding his sense of smell, he could still make out the scent of pine and juniper. Or maybe it was the seven servings of gin.

"We barely know each other," he began but found himself cut off by a finger at his lips.

"Why? Because we don't know much about each other's past? You aren't who you used to be, Potter. I know the man standing before me right now."

"You seem awfully confident," he answered. Truth be told, he saw where she was coming from. They'd only known each other for about a month but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore the fact that he enjoyed her company. And the drugs too but then she was the first witch he'd ever allowed himself to go that far with.

She rummaged inside the lining of her coat and pulled out an aluminium cover. "Care to split? Pop a deuce each," she offered, thrusting it at him.

"How in Morgana's name did you get your hands on xans! How the fuck do you even know what those are," he burst out, staring at the bars packed inside.

Hermione's work with patients had familiarized him with the anxiety medication. While he didn't advocate its recreational use, there was no denying the value of Xanax in treating anxiety and PTSD patients. The wards at St Mungo's had been filled with them after the War, many of whom had no idea about what they were going through. In the first few months after Voldemort's defeat, he'd taken them himself and while he was loathed to admit it, they had done him a world of good.

Daphne popped a couple of bars and swallowed them with an audible gulp. "After the War, I went off the radar. My father had no clue of my whereabouts, neither did my few friends. I needed some time off, to recuperate and start from scratch. I am indebted to the muggles of Marseille and Paris. I ran into some university students who I put up with. I saw a lot of their world. The good and the bad. When I felt I was ready, I returned to Britain, put in a shift at the Ministry and built my way up from there. I do miss the Muggles but I would rather continue here. Life isn't the same without magic."

Acting on instinct, Harry mirrored her action and ingested the pills. In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest decision to consume prescription drugs after chugging excess amounts of alcohol but the night had long crossed the realm of ordinary. "You don't have to tell me about your past, Potter. I'm not sure I even want to know. But don't do me a disservice and claim we don't understand each other at all."

She pulled closer, her hand nipping at the fabric of his shirt. "You've taken lives tonight. I knew the moment I saw you. Narrow-mindedness doesn't suit you, Potter. You aren't the only one who has seen death. The rest of us have our demons as well."

Harry stared, long and hard. He chastised himself for underestimating her, a trend that seemed to be developing into a habit. The bars were kicking in and he resisted the temptation to stretch out and yawn, as the last of his inhibitions disappeared.

"It isn't about killing really," he started, trying to distract himself from the hand tracing circles on his chest.

He chose to omit the information about Wormtail's dagger. It took him all his willpower to stop his mind from going into overdrive but he reigned himself in. The relic was secret and there would be a time to go over it later.

"It's about how I killed them. Diffindo does the trick. Fuck it, even the killing curse is a quick and clean finish. I made them suffer, Daphne. They died screaming."

The hand was stroking his cheek, the distance between their faces negligible. For the first time, Harry appreciated how beautiful she was. The blue eyes twinkled, as though they were molten and when she spoke, it was only a whisper. "After what you've been through, nobody can blame you. Look at yourself, Harry. You didn't do it because you enjoyed it. You could have walked away, you owe this world nothing. Yet, you're still here fighting because you believe in doing what is right. Life is Sisyphean enough without you creating obstacles for yourself."

Harry let her words wash over him, his eyes firmly shut. When he opened them once more, he found her puffing on another spliff. The empty look on her face could have passed for a drug haze but Harry knew better. The cheerful exterior was gone.

"Who was your favourite teacher at school," she asked, out of nowhere. A hint of a slur tinged their voices and their movements were lethargic and toned down.

"They were all pretty rubbish, in their own way," he grinned. "Remus Lupin was the best, in my opinion. McGonagall helped me too, after the War. And Dumbledore, of course."

"I asked for one, not the entire staff list. Merlin, with your tongue that far up the Headmaster's arse, you would have been a lock for Head Boy."

"Normal service is resumed, I see. Pity, though it was asking for too much, expecting you to be civil for more than a bloody minute. Which unfortunate teacher did you spend most of your time around anyway?"

"Flitwick," she answered, snatching the blunt off his lips. "He taught me things I'd always dreamt of achieving. Not to mention his impeccable manners too. Talking of learning, how does an abysmal transfiguration student go from utter rubbish to the finest in the country?"

"Whoever told you I'm the best conjurer Britain has to offer is a malicious liar. McGonagall wouldn't take kindly to that remark. To answer your question, hard work and practice, I suppose. McGonagall is a ruthless taskmaster."

With that, they decided to wrap up the evening. Daphne took the liberty of settling the bill, a generous tip earning her a deep bow from every member of the establishment, including the enormous bouncer. They materialised outside the gates and walked down the main path, Daphne latched on to his arm.

"So, how often do you end up going there anyway?"

"Jealous already? Calm down, I've only been there a handful of times. Got piss drunk, got with some strangers and regretted it."

"You don't do multiple dates then?"

A sad smile crossed Daphne's face as she looked into the distance and tightened her hold on his arm. "No, I don't. I lose interest before they know it or they leave once…"

For a moment it appeared as though she were going to continue but instead, she broke off with a shake of the head. "I guess this is goodbye. For the time being, at least."

Her reaction to his question had thrown him off and Harry found himself strangely apprehensive at the prospect of breaking things off. Not that there was much to break in the first place.

"I'd like to see you again, if you're interested, of course,"

Her face lit up, though her words were measured and casual. "I'd like that. Next time I'm in the country, perhaps?"

Harry nodded and watched her turn away. He made to leave but stopped as Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck. He returned the hug, burying his face in her neck, breathing in deeply. Her lips brushed across his cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

"Thank you for today. The fact that you actually made it, after everything. It means a lot."

And with a last squeeze and a smile, she departed into the Manor.

Harry wasn't sure how long he stood there. The comforting lightness was gone and his head felt heavy. His eyelids drooped as his system creaked under the strain but as he shuffled out the gate, the only thing he felt was happiness.

* * *

**A/N: Been a while, hope everyone's been doing well. Apologies for missing the weekend update, work has been a nightmare. To make up for it, this was the longest chapter so far and some heavy reading. I'm not sure how this one has turned out so feel free to criticize and drop your feedback. As always, thanks for reading, take care and stay safe. See you in a couple of weeks.**

**Edit: I also plan to re-do this bit in the near future and some readers mentioned the jump to the fight scene and from there to dinner was jarring. Put it down to my poor attempt to create contrast. Apologies if I couldn't meet your expectations for this one.**


	7. Watch Your Step

**Chapter 7: Watch Your Step**

* * *

"Silence!"

The shout echoed through around the dismal, cavernous Courtroom Ten, halting the hushed discussions. The high benches were filled with around fifty witches and wizards, all wearing the black robes of the Council of Magical Law. A full house. At the head of the Wizengamot, stood Ian Healy, the Director of the MLE. A small group of visitors was also present, occupying the seats lining the hall.

At the centre of the square, was the infamous chair, once occupied by Bellatrix Lestrange and Igor Karkaroff, amongst others. At that moment, it lodged a bored-looking Harry Potter. As he stared into the giant flickering fire bowls, he felt a keen sense of déjà vu. Courtroom Ten was where his first disciplinary hearing had taken place, ten years ago. Only this time, there was no Albus Dumbledore to defend him. The chains attached to the chair clinked threateningly in anticipation of his conviction.

Several familiar faces were in attendance. As the Minister for Magic, Kingsley's presence was expected. Harry also identified Susan Bones, Ernie MacMillan and Marietta Edgecombe, the youngest members of the Council. The visitor section contained the Flint and Montague families or what was left of them. To Harry's surprise, the area also seated Cyrus Greengrass, Astoria and Draco Malfoy.

Healy, a broad and bald man with a heavy-set face, took the stand and addressed the court. "We have assembled here today to conduct an enquiry into the actions of the defendant, Harry James Potter and to decide if action is to be taken against the Head Auror."

The scribe, a mouse-faced woman, spoke, "The prosecutor today is Ian David Healy, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mr. Potter, have you decided to avail the services of any witnesses or legal aides?"

"No," said Harry, speaking clearly. His response elicited another wave of unrest through the crowd. It was an unexpected decision. There were a dozen people in his department who were ready to offer him their backing and testify in court without a second thought. Not to mention, Ron and Hermione, who had already offered to support him. Traditionally, hearings involving members of Magical Law Enforcement were liable to be short-lived affairs that rarely resulted in convictions, because of the resources available to tamper evidence and individuals willing to provide false cover and witnesses.

While the Fudge and Umbridge led inquiry had been part of the vendetta against him and Dumbledore, the situation was more serious this time around. However, it also meant that he received a fair chance to offer explanations.

"Potter, what have you been doing?" It wasn't the standard formal line of questioning, but Healy wore the look for a man who was tired of having the integrity of his department compromised.

"I like to believe that I've been doing my job, sir."

Healy glared at his second-in-command. The relationship they shared was a complicated one. The MLE Head was not foolish enough to believe that his department could function without Harry Potter. Harry's mere presence was a bonus for the MLE. From generous public donations to the special preference within the Ministry, people went the extra step to oblige them and by extension, the Boy-Who-Won. However, he was afraid the Head Auror had gone one step too far this time.

Healy's informal interrogation didn't last long, for he was interrupted by Josephina Selwyn, a long-standing member of the Wizengamot. "Minister, this is a travesty. I demand that you take control of the situation and stop this farce," she jumped to her feet, addressing Kingsley.

Right on cue, a bearded man seated beside her, raised his arm to speak. "I second Lady Selwyn's demands, Minister," he pulled out a sheet of paper and peered at it. "Seven years. Seven years of peace, mind you, yet the number of citizens killed in operational conflict continues to rise."

Lord Flint pounced on the opportunity and made his entry into proceedings. "May I also add that many of these citizens were innocent. My boy was one of them, yet he does not walk amongst us today."

"Ah yes, there is also the trouble of the latest incident," said Healy, taking over. "Mr. Potter, I have read your report and submitted it to the Wizengamot for further inspection, but the fact is that the numbers and information we have available to us just don't paint a satisfactory picture."

So, it was a coordinated move, thought Harry. Josephina Selwyn held no love for Harry Potter. The lady had shielded herself from suspicion by distancing herself from the notorious Selwyn family during the War. However, it was safe to assume that killing her nephew and throwing a couple of relatives in Azkaban had not endeared Harry to her.

What he wasn't certain about though, was whether Ian Healy had given in to his fears and decided to strike him a crippling blow. Harry didn't envy the Director. Healy was a headstrong wizard, a man who compensated for his average magical ability through hard work. It was dispiriting for him to deal with the rumours swirling around his job security, but he never complained. Harry didn't share much of a bond with his 'boss'. They stayed out of each other's way and maintained a curt but functional relationship.

"Ten wizards dead, three with no active criminal records. Four by your own hand and the rest murdered by an unknown entity, who carried out the act AND got away from right under your nose. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry shook his head, "I acted in self-defence, they-"

"A predictable story, Mr. Potter," boomed Lady Selwyn. "I ask the Wizengamot, how long are we going to allow our security forces to do as they please, under the pretence of Ministry business. For decades, Aurors and Hitwizards have struck down unsuspecting citizens and walked away without any repercussions. One only must glance through Mr. Potter's past record to realise this is all sanctimonious humbug."

"I believe you'd be better off examining your own family, Madam Selwyn, although the widespread reputation eradicates the need to look through any physical records."

There was a moment of stunned silence before chatter broke out through the occupants. Few looked appalled while others nodded appreciatively and through it all, Astoria Greengrass' hysterical laughter sounded above the din.

"Silence," shouted Healy, banging his fist on a desk. "Another passing remark and I'll be forced to hold you in contempt of the court, Mr. Potter. You seem to have forgotten that you are a servant of this Ministry, the country and its people. There is no place for a vigilante in the administration."

"I agree with the prosecutor," Ernie MacMillan took centre stage, addressing the room. "The numbers speak for themselves. Mr. Potter's past accomplishments are well-known, but we cannot allow those tasked with maintaining law and order to go about breaking a dozen laws themselves. We have watched and observed for long enough."

Healy reached over to the scribe and pulled out a sheet before issuing a statement. "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Ministry of Magic press the following charges against Mr. Potter. Excessive force in the line of duty, endangering the lives of Ministry employees and unlawful murder of innocent citizens. The Council will now vote, in private and announce the decision shortly."

The visitors filed out of the courtroom, leaving the Wizengamot to deliberate and debate. Kingsley caught Harry's eye from the benches and motioned towards the door. Harry exited the room and walked into a deserted corridor, where Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge had plotted against him all those years ago.

"I do not believe you would murder in cold blood without an adequate reason. Albus asked me to trust you and I always have," Kingsley's deep voice resonated through the corridor.

"It isn't that simple," began Harry, refusing to turn and meet his friend's eyes. "I am partially guilty, Kingsley. I...I don't know. When I'm in the middle of a battle, my wand seems to have a mind of its own."

Kingsley's brow furrowed and his face softened as he watched Harry's lips quiver and move soundlessly, struggling for words. "I still fight the way I used to in the War," he continued. "Cast first and think later. And..and I understand why Ron, Hermione and everyone tells me to show mercy. But I feel nothing. No remorse, no apology, no pity. It ought to terrify me but I feel nothing."

Kingsley listened with rapt attention, giving Harry his space. He appeared crestfallen before composing himself and turned to face the disturbed wizard.

"There was a man once, a wizard of great compassion who above all, loved things that grew," he gave him a sad smile. "He mentored me after I finished Hogwarts and took a special interest in teaching children, nurturing their skills, making sure they were skilled but at the same time, happy."

"Supremely talented and blessed with a beautiful wife, he had it all. Until one fateful day, he came back home to find his parents dead, killed by those looking to prove themselves to the rising Dark Lord. For good measure, they also killed his wife and unborn child."

"He was never the same. Bitter but determined, he abandoned trust and hope. Waging his own battle against the Death Eaters, killing without mercy until the Ministry reigned him in. Unmoved, he devoted his career towards filling the cells of Azkaban. Years went by and his body continued to break. His peers hated his demeanour. Many thought him to be mad and paranoid. The press labelled him insane."

"We were the lucky few who knew the real Alastor Moody, Harry. The greatest Auror who ever lived spent the later decades of his life consumed by revenge and hate, hunted by the distant relatives of those whom he had killed or imprisoned, haunted by his own past with no future to look forward to."

"The adoring man was still in there somewhere. He always looked out for Tonks. Did you know he pushed her to marry Remus? The damn fool tried to make me tie the knot too. But little did that side of him surface. Was Alastor a bad man? Never. Did he live a happy life? No, he didn't."

Kingsley put a strong arm on Harry's shoulder, his grip firm. "I have seen you grow from boy to man. From the time you were a baby, you've been through worse than what Alastor faced. Nobody comes out of that untouched, Harry. Some things you can't control. What you can control is whether you want to give in to hate and give up on life or whether you want to live."

Harry nodded, feeling numb and grateful beyond words. "You will be remembered as the greatest wizard of this generation. Don't worry about what other people think, you owe them nothing. The only person you owe anything to is yourself. Remember, we wouldn't be here without you. You command our respect."

Harry seemed to perk up at his words although the emptiness inside him felt heavier than ever. As Kingsley clapped him on the shoulder, he acknowledged that what he was asking of Harry was easier said than done. However, it was necessary.

As time passed, the parallels between Alastor Moody and Harry's life were growing all too similar for Kingsley's liking. Harry needed a break. He'd refused to take time off after the War had ended, choosing to hunt the remaining Death Eaters down. While the intention was noble, he feared that Harry had remained in the dark for far too long.

"There's more. You're right, there was some reasoning behind my actions, misguided as they were. Have you been through my report?"

"I was the first one to read it," admitted Kingsley. "Made for vague reading, I must say. The narration of events hinted at a degree of lax incompetence that I don't consider possible from the likes of you."

"Well, I did leave a few things out," Harry spoke in a whisper. "Before he died, Flint told me that he received an unsigned letter offering him and his entire group money to get rid of Smith. But that's just where it begins to get suspicious. The letter also tipped Flint off about Smith's location, telling him exactly when and where they would find him."

"You're telling me someone working with Smith or close to him, tried to betray him and was desperate enough to enlist a bunch of amateurs to get the job done?"

"I wouldn't call Flint and Montague a bunch of amateurs but yes, that's what I'm guessing as well. Whoever wants Smith dead, doesn't want him falling into the hands of the Auror Office."

Kingsley shook his head, "So, what went wrong? Your report said Smith escaped while you were duelling Flint and Montague and killed the rest of the ambush on his way out. Unless I'm mistaken, your official version of events places most of the blame on your own shoulders."

"Exactly. Smith didn't escape on his own. He was rescued. By the same person who murdered Flint."

"What," exclaimed Kingsley, surprise etched on his face. "That's ridiculous. Someone managed to creep up and rescue him? That doesn't check out."

"You don't have to rub it in. It's on me, I got complacent. By the time I got to the summit, Smith was already disarmed, his wand snapped." Harry shook his head, "Kingsley, there's something strange going on here. My magic never lets me down. It was pitch-dark, visibility was near zero and Smith was lying at the other end of that damnably long platform, as were the two other men we'd taken care of but that's not an excuse. The person who got Smith out, he had no magical aura. Not even a hint of a signature."

Kingsley drew a sharp breath. "A squib or a muggle? But you can-"

"Sense any human, yes, I know. Not as clearly as I can feel magic but if I strain hard, I can make out tentative locations. Dumbledore said so himself. This person, I couldn't feel anything, it's almost as if there wasn't any sign of life."

"Are you sure? It's imperative that you deal in absolutes here, Harry. You have no room for error. Is that our man?"

"I'm beyond certain. The person who rescued Smith is also the one who killed Andromeda. Flint was killed with a knife. All his men had their throats slit, as did Andromeda. I examined the bodies myself; the cuts all bear the same pattern. Ear to ear, incisions made with the right hand. Too precise and too alike be made by a Diffindo, especially when pressed for time."

It's been baffling me for a while,' Harry continued. "Why not use the killing curse? Why risk capture and waste valuable seconds going through the rigour of cutting throats? I think we have our answer. What if our murderer hasn't used magical means _because he can't perform magic?"_

"Or she," added Kingsley. "I'm convinced. But this could be anybody. Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack. For starters, I'll get in touch with the Muggle Prime Minister and ask him for a list of recently escaped muggle convicts-"

"There's no need for all that. This was no muggle," Harry cut him off. Moving closer, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the silver dagger. "Flint was killed with this. This is why my report was a bunch of lies."

Kingsley examined the jagged blade. Harry had wiped it clean after extracting it from Flint's corpse but there remained underlying stains of red that could not be removed. While the serrated and blotched edges were worn from the test of time, the handle grip still gleamed silver. He turned the flat blade over, saw the serpentine engraving and raised his eyebrows.

"Peter Pettigrew's," Harry whispered. Not one prone to gasps and other expressions of surprise, Kingsley nodded. "The ten cases you've been following. The kidnapping and murder incidents. Do you think they fit into the grand scheme of things here?"

"I don't have all the answers but this changes everything. I'll have to look through all the case files again and examine the people and families involved as well as those who were targeted and try to find a pattern. I'll tell you this though, every person involved in those kidnappings fought to the death. Almost as though they had specific instructions warning them not to be taken alive."

Kingsley waved away an approaching Wizengamot member, who presumably wished to inform them the jury was ready to announce a decision. "Don't trust anyone. Assuming the worst-case scenario is true and the kidnappings were the design of this unknown murderer, it's likely that some pureblood families might have a clue as to the identity. Play your cards safe."

"I can't do anything if they convict me right now-"

"Don't be an idiot. You know as well as I do, they aren't going to chuck you out of the MLE. A rap on the knuckles maybe but no more. I've had words with the editor of the Prophet. There won't be any hit-piece libel against you in the news."

"Kingsley...I don't know how to thank you."

"You can thank me by watching your step, Harry. My days are numbered and I won't always be there for you. Keep people who you trust close. There's a motive here that we cannot see."

With that, they separated, as Kingsley departed to take his place in the high benches while Harry joined the visitors in re-entering the courtroom.

Ian Healy and the Wizengamot were ready. "We have arrived at a decision. After consultation with the members of the council, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has decided that if convicted, the Head Auror will be suspended for a period of two months. The Ministry will also levy fresh murder charges against Mr. Potter, the result of which could lead to a revised sentence. For the benefit of the observing gallery, I request the Wizengamot to exhibit the vote once more. Those in favour of conviction?"

Harry watched with bated breath as fifteen members rose to their feet, led by Josephine Selwyn and Marietta Edgecombe. Despite his prior confidence, relief welled up inside Harry though he was careful to avoid showing it.

"Very well, those in favour of acquittal?"

About thirty people signalled their approval although a select few remained seated, choosing to abstain from the vote. Harry was amused to see Astoria stand up as well, dragging a reluctant Draco with her.

Healy stared at the Head Auror, his face inscrutable. Disappointment flashed across his face for a moment. "Acquitted of all charges," he announced and departed the stand, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but there.

* * *

"I cannot put into words much I've missed this place," Daphne sighed in contentment as she stood on the roof of her little house.

"On the contrary, that's the fourth time you're repeating yourself in the last hour," the brunette beside her observed, idly flipping through the latest edition of Marie Claire.

Daphne didn't care. She never understood why people at the British Magical Embassy seemed to be so desperate to finish their terms and move back home. In her opinion, Magical Britain didn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as France.

Marseille was everything that London wasn't. From the sunny Mediterranean weather to the charming Old Port, there was a vibrant warmth and life to the city. For reasons unknown to her, the Ministry had decided against establishing their base in the French capital of Paris. Not that she was complaining, Daphne loved the ocean and the quaint beauty of the southern city made up for the more typical, modern attractions that Paris offered.

"Let me be, Tracey. You've been shopping and feasting to your heart's content in Le Panier, while I sat listening to Narcissa complain about how our Manor doesn't have any wildlife around."

Her best friend snorted and shook her head. "Good to hear Narcissa hasn't changed a bit. She used to drive mum mad. You could dump her in Azkaban and she'd still find something to complain about."

"I imagine your mum would enjoy that."

Tracey scrunched her face and winced. "I don't think so. Last I visited her, she pretended she didn't know who the Malfoy's were. Seemed to get a kick out of it too."

It was a testament to Tracey Davis' mental fortitude that she could converse so casually about her parents. Born to lower-level Death Eaters, Tracey had never bought into the pro-pureblood mentality of her parents. Her father had perished in a raid during her sixth year while her mother, who held a prominent post at the Daily Prophet, had been sentenced to Azkaban for participating in numerous raids, as well as her role in whipping up the media frenzy against Dumbledore and the Resistance during the later stages of the Second War.

Much to her mother's disapproval, Tracey had followed Daphne in moving to France. She worked as a freelance copyeditor, translating French texts to English and had embraced the muggle lifestyle. While her pessimistic, no-nonsense approach to life could get trying, Daphne was immensely grateful for her best friend's company.

"But never mind that," dismissed Tracey, throwing the magazine aside. "Stop behaving like you've never seen sunshine before and spill the tea. You mentioned in your owl that you had interesting news."

"Have a guess, it's no fun if I tell you-"

"Pansy tried to crash the wedding?"

"No! She promised she was-"

"Draco tried to set you up with one of his horrible business friends?"

"Thank Merlin, no."

"Astoria's finally getting off her arse and finding a job?"

"Each worse than the last, Tracey," she giggled. Do you ever grow weary of hunting for gossip?"

"If it's none of those, then it probably isn't interesting anyway. Wait till you hear what my neighbours were up to last night, THAT is what I call interesting."

"You're incorrigible, stop talking and listen, will you? Father met with Potter over the last couple of months."

That wiped the grin off Tracey's face. "Oh dear, please don't tell me-" she trailed off, appearing crestfallen.

Despite her parents' fate, Tracey revelled in the silver lining of their absence. They weren't around to meddle in her life and force her to make decisions that weren't her own.

"No, no. Believe me, I was worried for a bit," Daphne's voice took on a serious tone. "No marriage negotiations though whatever they were discussing seemed important."

Her words reassured Tracey, who patted her shoulder reassuringly. "No harm done then - wait! What? How do you know what they were talking about? Daphne, you didn't listen in, did you?"

"Um...well…ask no questions and hear no lies?"

"For fucks sake," swore Tracey, rolling her eyes. She was aware of Daphne's excessive curiosity, even though her friend tried her best to conceal it. "One of these days someone's going to catch you in the act."

"Oh, Potter did. Merlin knows how but not only did he know, he confronted me about it too."

Tracey's face went from mortified to stunned. "You're joking! What did you do, tell him to mind his own business?"

"Don't be silly," she replied, keeping her tone casual. "I asked him out to dinner."

Daphne expected her announcement to be met with surprise, disbelief and no small amount of disapproval. Hence, Tracey's beaming grin came as a surprise.

She raised her eyebrows as Tracey rolled over on the rooftop, shaking with laughter.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you haven't asked anyone to dinner in years and when you finally get down to it, you ask Harry fucking Potter?"

"It wasn't premeditated, how was I supposed to know the guy could see through doors. It was a nightmare, for two weeks I expected my father to announce that he'd reached an agreement."

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't part of the plan," she replied in her most condescending tone, adding another pat on her shoulder for emphasis.

"You miserable hag, don't get me started on _plans_. I haven't forgotten your numerous planned nights with Gaspard besmirching the Château d'If…"

"Ugh, don't go there, that's a low blow," gasped Tracey, wincing at the memory of her own escapades on the nearby island. "Alright, I apologise, now tell me about your unexpected dinner date."

"Um...there were two, actually. And we investigated a crime scene as well if that counts?

"Well, it looks like I was right then," gloated Tracey, curling her around a finger, a pensive look on her face.

"I mean, if Potter is anything like what his public appearances suggest, it's not surprising you enjoyed his company," she elaborated. "You're always complaining about how you're forced to put on that cheerful front and deal with a load of people who either can't stop talking or expect you to keep talking. Potter looks like someone who doesn't open his mouth unless he has to."

"You seem to have given this a great deal of prior thought," Daphne chuckled at her friend's serious explanation.

"No, but you despise people who go over the top trying to impress you. As someone who's known you for a long time, this doesn't surprise me because Potter seems like the complete opposite of the people you can't tolerate and ironically, interact with the most.

Daphne gave the brunette a warm smile, gratified by her approval. Astoria and Tracey were the only people who understood her but while her sister seemed genuinely shocked at recent developments, Tracey's logic made sense.

"So, what's he like?"

"Potter's different," began Daphne, measuring her words. "At first glance, it's easy to think he's just how the papers paint him. Frigid, self-absorbed and more than a little intimidating. But I found him to be funny, an eager listener and willing to make a joke at his own expense. Honestly, he's a nice guy who never shows it."

Tracey stared at her, concern evident in her eyes. "The important thing is, does he understand you?"

"I think he does, you know. It's hard to tell what he's thinking but he never makes me feel like I must keep talking or smile to fill the gaps. I just don't know what to do next, I had to walk into his office just to give him a nudge to ask me out again."

Tracey gave her a sad smile. "You've tried everything, Daphne. Not caring, caring too much, you've done it all. Just go with the flow and see where things go without forcing this issue this time."

"I can't believe you're giving me advice on how to deal with men," laughed Daphne, aware of Tracey's inconsistent dating history.

"Is it so hard to be grateful for once," she grumbled. "But more importantly, how's everything at home with the family?"

"Draco, Draco and more Draco. I understand Astoria doesn't want to spend her life in the Malfoy's ghastly dungeon of a manor but that doesn't allow her to let that git parade around our home."

"Get over it," giggled Tracey. "From what I hear, he isn't even that bad anymore. Neither is Lucius. Anyway, that isn't what I was meant, Daphne. How's it going with your father?"

"As well as you'd expect," sighed Daphne with another small shake of the head. "He's getting desperate and there aren't many options left. Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"I can't believe we used to be proud of our family blood at Hogwarts," Tracey observed. "To discard the idea of marriage without even meeting a woman once... I don't know what to say."

"We were naive and young, Tracey. Everyone wants to be special and above the rest when you're at school. Imagine the number of women who couldn't bear children or suffered from blemishes and deformities in the past. The wizards will never admit it but the Muggles are so much more progressive than we are."

They sat in silence, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. It was a lovely day, too bright to be clouded by the unpleasant subject of pureblood tradition. As Daphne glanced at her best friend, she thought about the woman's decision to embrace the Muggle life. Enticing as it was, Daphne knew Tracey would have to make peace with her past one day.

"I'm famished. Do you want to grab some pied et paquets and vermouth? There's a sweet old lady with a patio right down the street."

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Ian Healy pushed aside the mountain of papers on his desk and pursed his lips at the man standing rigidly in his office. Harry Potter's refusal to take a seat irked him, as usual, but he knew better than to insist.

After six years of overseeing Harry's work, Healy still didn't know what to make of him. It was a common joke amongst the other heads of departments, that he was Harry Potter's boss only in name. They weren't wrong, of course.

Healy could never hope to fire Harry without being dismissed himself. Why, he'd never even given the Head Auror a sound telling off, though that had a lot to do with the fact that Harry had never given him a reason to do so.

Like any other director in a government organisation, Healy was always looking over his shoulder, keeping an eye out for anyone looking to supplant him. In that regard, being Harry Potter's boss was a curse. The popular opinion around the Ministry was that it was only a matter of when and not if, the Head Auror would rise to the position of Head of Department and subsequently, Minister of Magic.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

There it was again, he thought. Polite and innocuous to a fault. It was one of the qualities of the Head Auror that Healy appreciated. Despite being aware of the true lack of authority Healy had on him, Harry never outrightly undermined or embarrassed his boss.

"Where do I begin? I read your report, Potter and there were even more gaps than usual. I don't expect you to give me the entire story. Whatever your reasons, I remain adamant on one thing. Do not put the lives of the members of this department at risk. Do not make their jobs harder than they need to be. You don't need to be reminded that they don't share your prodigious talent."

"Understood, sir."

Healy stared into this distance before slumping with his head in his hands. "Potter, I'm in the dark here. You aren't the only one facing an inquiry, you know? I am answerable for your actions and I cannot hope to defend you if we aren't on the same page."

"How do you expect us to be on the same page while you're levelling charges against me," questioned Harry, giving him a speculative look.

"Potter-"

"I know, you have nothing personal against me. I have a habitual distrust of the Ministry, one that is apparently mutual."

"Change is a slow process and the changes you have been trying to bring in involve undoing centuries of stigma. The pureblood culture is sewn into the fabric of this nation and its Ministry. It is not so simple to undo."

To his surprise, Harry nodded and pulled up a chair. "You have friends in high places, Potter, but the purebloods are looking for an excuse to tear you down. They might not be able to get rid of you altogether, but they certainly can halt your progress through the ranks."

"I am not concerned with rank and power, sir. What matters to me now is solving this case and the purebloods seem to be involved in it to their necks."

"What makes you say that? Give me something to work with, anything that I can use to buy you some space and time."

Harry pondered over how much to reveal. There were too many questions at hand and with how quickly word spread through the Ministry, a slip on his behalf could prove costly.

"Dear Eater business, sir. I don't want to make accusations and point fingers till I have proof but the incident at the Monument appears to be linked to the cases we've been working on over the past year."

Healy appeared thoughtful and more than a little sceptical. "Well, I suppose I could tell the council that you're still cleaning up. I thought you'd rounded up the last of the lot."

"So did I, sir. I don't like it any more than you do but they always were a resilient lot. Please keep this information to yourself, if you can help it. I haven't spread the word amongst the Aurors either."

"You don't have to do this alone, you know? I don't doubt your ability but this is get out of hand."

"I wasn't planning to," reassured Harry, getting to his feet. "I'll keep you posted."

"Potter," Healy called as Harry reached the door. "No more slipping up, please. This Ministry isn't accustomed to you failing to do your job."

* * *

"Wow, I didn't even know this place existed," chirped Rose Rowle as she followed Harry down a dark and narrow stone staircase.

"And for good reason. Any mention of this and you'd be suspended before you could say 'top-secret'."

They arrived at a padded bronze door, sealed by three rows of locks. Rose tensed in anticipation as Harry tapped each of the bars with his wand, watching them slide open. Typically, inexperienced Aurors didn't get access to classified information before they'd racked up experience in the field and Rose was determined to make the most of the opportunity being offered.

She started in confusion as the door swung open to reveal a dusty, stuffed room. A single long table stood in the centre, surrounded by large glass shelves, stacked with files. The wall at the back of the room was hidden behind drawn curtains, as though there were a window there.

Harry waved his wand, lighting the small fire bowls hanging on the walls. He noticed Rose's disappointment and smirked. "Don't let the humble appearance fool you," and with a flourish, he drew back the curtains to reveal a large board, covering the entirety of the wall. It was filled with neat lines and divisions and a volume's worth of text was etched upon it.

"This," announced Harry, gesturing around her, "is the result of ten years of tireless work. Here you will find everything that we have on the First and Second Wars. Strategies, interviews, family histories, records, all of it is here. It began with Alastor Moody and was finished by Dumbledore's Army."

Rose gasped, realising the true worth of the room's contents. It was a veritable treasure trove of information, a key to the past that many would have killed to get their hands on.

"As the muggles say, history repeats itself," explained Harry. "Did you know that a few of Voldemort's tactics and Death Eater's lineage can be tracked to Grindelwald and earlier? I hope that when the time comes, this country will be better prepared, for there inevitably will be another Dark Lord trying to gain a foothold in this world."

On closer observation, Rose noticed that the shelves and files were meticulously organised based on year and place. "What do I need to do," she asked, her face set.

"Before you begin, it goes without saying that all of this is classified. There are charms on the files as well as the door that prevent any of the contents from leaving this room. Now, I need you to focus on this list," he instructed, handing her a piece of paper.

**_Peter Pettigrew and all individuals who came in contact with the same, 1995-1998._ **

**_All_ ** **_Death Eaters (and families) involved in the Second War, post 24th June 1995._ **

**_All_ ** **_surviving unconvicted individuals with Death Eater ties, confirmed and unconfirmed._ **

**_All_ ** **_individuals present during the fight at Malfoy Manor, Easter, 1998._ **

"That should narrow it down for you, not by much though."

"Is there anything in particular that I'm looking for?"

"Anything that sticks out. Pay close attention to Peter Pettigrew and the people he interacted with. Place the files that you're done with on the table and I'll take another look through them. I know it's a lot but the fewer people know of this place, the better."

"Don't worry, I'll do a thorough job. Trust me, you don't have to bother looking through stuff I'm done with."

"Oh, I do trust you, otherwise you wouldn't be here. This isn't about me doubting your commitment. People seem to think an investigation is about uncovering massive secrets and catching breaks. More often than not, it's just painstaking re-examination. The majority of our cases were solved by looking under our noses and going over what was in front of us."

"If you say so. One last question, what's in there," Rose asked, pointing to a small large black wardrobe equipped with a muggle locking mechanism.

Harry acknowledged her keen eye for detail. It was stuffed away in a corner, between a couple of shelves to avoid being noticed. The black wardrobe contained everything they had on Tom Riddle. His past, his ideas, several his own writings and books that had surfaced in various Death Eater abodes and of course, every writing on Horcruxes that Harry could find. Dumbledore had worked towards erasing the knowledge of the vile soul pieces off the face of the Earth and Harry had followed in his footsteps.

"Believe me, Rowle, you don't want to know. Send me a single vibration when you want to leave, I'll let you out."

* * *

"I must confess, I am disappointed, Greengrass. Your intricate plot failed and Harry Potter lives on."

"It was a decent plan. It isn't my fault that Marcus, Graham and their bunch of bumbling baboons couldn't kill him under the cover of darkness."

"Excuses, excuses…" The hooded figure murmured, twitching and drawing a rattling breath. "Your lax execution nearly cost my friend here his life. Isn't that right, Zacharias?"

Smith turned to face the voice, his frozen in a blank stare. "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation," he intoned lifelessly.

"Spoken like a true soldier," the figure praised, as Smith continued to appear clueless. "I want results, Greengrass. My friends who joined me in this endeavour a year ago are dead. I have been patient…so patient."

"It's impossible to beat him one on one, he's too powerful!"

"You better pray it doesn't come to that. If it does, you will be my wand, Greengrass, it is best you be prepared."

"It would be the end of me, I cannot hope to prevail and you would lose your last helper."

"If I write another anonymous owl, to the Ministry this time, it will be the end of you, anyway. Don't try to sweet-talk me. Don't grovel expecting pity. Bring me Potter or see your life destroyed."

* * *

**A/N: A lighter chapter but hope you enjoy all the same. A person kindly offered to help me beta this story so hopefully there will be fewer errors from the next chapter onwards. As always, thanks for reading and stay safe.**


	8. Down Memory Lane

**Chapter 8: Down Memory Lane**

* * *

"Miss Greengrass, words cannot express how wonderful it is to have you back. This office simply isn't the same without you."

Daphne would have loved nothing more than to roll her eyes and ignore the tittering man's overzealous greeting. However, she mustered up a broad smile and returned her secretary's enthusiasm. After all, she had a reputation to live up to and it wouldn't do to antagonise her new assistant.

"Good morning, Thompson, it's good to see you well. I trust you had an enjoyable month?"

"Yes, ma'am although I must confess, the absence of your energetic presence was felt by all of us."

"Merlin," she cursed under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, I was just saying you seem rather sprightly yourself, Thompson. You didn't have to go through the trouble of waiting at the door."

"It was no trouble at all, not an inconvenience in the slightest!"

The man was a lost cause, decided Daphne. Young and enthusiastic, Thompson was the latest in a long line of secretaries. She'd transferred the previous one after his failure to address his stammering problem, a peculiar case that seemed to flair up while he was in her presence.

The Embassy of Wizarding Britain bore little resemblance to the structure of its parent organisation back home. Bright and sleek, the glass building was squeezed between a couple of modest cafes and overlooked the sea.

While it contained no structure to rival the Ministry of Magic's imposing Fountain of Magical Brethren, a melange of dainty glass statues and carvings filled the Embassy. To the naked eye, the interiors were compact and prim, like a high-end muggle corporate office or an art exhibition. A prominent difference from the Ministry back home was the immaculate arrangement and bright furniture. Daphne was a stickler for tidiness and within the establishment, her word was the rule.

She walked through the swanky corridors, nodding and smiling at each person who walked by, as Thompson scampered at her heels.

"Mr. Floyd is waiting in your office, Miss Greengrass," he called after her. "He claims to have fixed an appointment with you."

"Someone kill me," she whispered to herself, gnashing her teeth in a brave attempt to smile at a passing lady and failing miserably. Floyd was the point of contact between the French Ministry for the Magic and the Embassy and a source of great irritation for Daphne. His pompous manner was magnified by a constant stream of 'relationship building' ideas, each one worse than the last.

"Hold my appointments, Thompson, this won't be a short ride, I'm afraid," she warned, swinging open the glass door to her office.

"This came in for you early this morning, ma'am," he said, holding out a sealed parchment. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you aren't interrupted," he assured, flashing what he thought was a winning smile.

Daphne glanced at the label on the parchment and recognised her sister's neat penmanship. Biting her lip, she entered the room, paying little heed to the enormous figure occupying the space.

The fact that Astoria had sent a letter meant she had written it either early that morning or late in the previous niight. Daphne's residence was connected to the local floo network and while international travel through the grid of fireplaces was impossible, high-ranking Ministry employees had specialized systems which allowed them to use the 'fire-talking' feature and communicate with people across national borders, for the sake of convenience.

Clearly, the letter contained important news and Daphne had a good idea of what it was. She fought against the growing dread in her chest and turned her attention to the beaming man in the office.

"Welcome back, Miss Greengrass, it's about time you returned. After all, Bastille Day is fast approaching and it would be inconvenient to proceed with our plans without consulting you."

Daphne blinked. "I'm sorry, what-"

"Oh, the French National Day, of course," emphasized Floyd, waving an impatient hand. "I have a bunch of fabulous ideas up my sleeve. I'm telling you, the French won't know whether to be honoured or belittled by our brilliance."

'Belittled' didn't sound promising. "I'm not sure that's-"

"Splendid! I knew I could count on your participation, Director. This is what I call leading from the front. Now, the first thing I had in mind…"

An hour later, Daphne was ready to strangle someone. Anyone. Floyd had belatedly vacated her office, a self-satisfied smile on his pudgy face but the solitude didn't improve her sour mood. Instead, she found herself consternated by her own lack of forbearance.

Although Daphne was no stranger to the stress and annoyance associated with working life, she had always been adept at diffusing it. Her glowing reputation was well-earned and the same approachable nature had driven her professional success.

That day, however, she felt aggravated from the moment she set foot inside the building and everything, from Thompson to the seagulls at the window, seemed to irk her.

Pacing around the spotless office, she ripped open the parchment and began to read, her fears confirmed.

_Daphne,_

_It's late and I know you're asleep so I'm writing you this letter hoping you read it first thing tomorrow morning._

_Took the test this evening and everything is in order. Father is delighted, as you can imagine, and so is Narcissa. We haven't checked if it's a boy or a girl yet but Narcissa's already badgering me about it._

_Call over Floo once you're done with work. And yes, father's already making arrangements for the ball, you better start looking for someone to bring with you. Don't forget to call and do give Tracey my love._

_Astoria._

There it was. A part of her couldn't help but wonder if Astoria had delayed the announcement till Daphne had left the country. Perhaps she was overthinking it but if that was the case, it was a welcome gesture. It had helped her avoid further social scrutiny and conflict with her disappointed father.

The unsettled restlessness continued to bubble under the surface. In a normal and happy family, Astoria's pregnancy would have been a cause for celebration and euphoria. Daphne, however, felt dejected and she hated herself for it.

Searching for a distraction, she played with the idea of immersing herself in preparations for the Bastille Day celebrations but discarded the thought once she realised it meant spending another few hours with Floyd.

The sight of Thompson grinning and waving at her from his desk was the last straw. Making up her mind, she drew the shutters down and threw herself into the tiny, low chair in front of the fireplace.

Chucking a handful of black powder into the flames, she lowered her head in and found herself looking at the dark, granite interiors of Level Two of the Ministry of Magic, the home of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The entrance was manned by a surly looking witch who was munching on a sandwich. Unimpressed by the interruption, she glared at the head suspended in the fireplace.

"Head Auror's Office, please," requested Daphne politely.

"Name and department," the witch questioned in a clipped tone.

Daphne wasn't one to pull rank but a few choice words and a whirlwind of ash later, she saw the familiar insides of Harry's office.

His back was turned to the fireplace and there was no indication that he was aware of her presence. Despite her splenetic mood, Daphne relished the opportunity to pull a fast one on the imperturbable Auror.

"You're a terrible influence," she accused.

Her day went from bad to worse when Harry turned around with a smile on his face, as though he'd been expecting her all along.

"Coming from a drug-dealing, pill-popping, law-breaking Ministry employee, the hypocrisy is astounding."

"Why couldn't I get through to you directly? The witch on duty was in half a mind to report me,"

Her indignation stemmed from the fact that Directors of Departments and their deputies had their own network of interlinked fireplaces and were thus exempt from the customary security measures.

Harry took his sweet time settling into a chair and looked into the fireplace. "Calm down, why so… _heated_ ," he chortled.

Lost for words, her lips moved soundlessly before she dissolved into a fit of laughter. "Has anyone mentioned that you're incorrigible," she asked, gasping for breath.

"You look like you've had better days," observed Harry. "Well, cheer up, you're far too attractive to be moping-"

"No. No, thank you, that's as much as I can take. Morgana, if I hear another half-arsed compliment today…"

"Bloody hell, I thought women like compliments."

"Do us both a favour and don't think too much, Potter. Now, as I was saying earlier, you're nothing but trouble."

"The lack of originality is frightening, half of Hogwarts has been telling me that since I was eleven," Harry let out a long-suffering sigh. "What am I being blamed for now?"

"Before I had the misfortune of meeting you, I was a genial, cheery and frankly, wonderful person to work with," she began.

"Dubious and debatable."

"Be quiet. Where was I? Yes, a wonderful person to work with. Yet today, I find myself irritable, curt, insensitive, intolerant and dissatisfied with everyone around me. Sounds familiar?"

"Let me get this straight. You're using official lines of communication meant for urgent messages just so you can tell me that I'm responsible for you being a brat?"

She grinned and nodded vigorously, feeling her frustration ebb away. Harry's capacity to say the right thing was uncanny. Or maybe it was just the way he said it? Whatever it was, she was glad it worked.

"Imitation is the greatest form of flattery. It's a shame you didn't choose to imitate my sense of humour or-"

"Bloody hell, is there no end to your shit," she laughed. "How do you do it, Potter? How are you... normal here and such a cold prick the rest of the time?"

"I could ask you the same thing," replied Harry, his voice serious. "We're no different, just that you hide behind a curtain of positivity."

"Touché," she smiled. Her estimation was correct. He'd seen through her act from the very beginning. "But why do you do it," she asked after a brief, thoughtful silence.

Harry didn't know where to begin. The social rejection at Hogwarts, the hate from the public when he claimed Voldemort had returned, the horrors of the War, the lonely nights after the Dark Lord's fall, the people who tried to take advantage of his fame, it was all a complicated mess in his head.

"It's a long story. Some other time, perhaps. Enough about me, so, what's wrong?"

"As far as subtle changes of the topic go, that was atrocious, Potter. Take your time though, I won't bite," she reassured him, her eyes soft.

"But yes, I do have bad news. Astoria's pregnant."

"Wow, that's good, right? Congratulations! So, what's the bad news then?"

"This IS the bad news, you oaf. Alright, I suppose I'm being harsh on you. Astoria having a baby also reminds my family and our social circle about how I'm unmarried and obviously, childless."

"That makes sense. There's a certain stigma associated with unmarried elder siblings even in muggle society. Not that it's a good thing."

"In pureblood circles, it's a big deal, especially for a woman. The barrage of crude remarks, thinly-veiled barbs and general disapproval is depressing," admitted Daphne, looking forlorn.

"And trailing down that line of thought makes me feel like I'm an obnoxious human being. I mean, I'm happy for Astoria, I really am but at the same time…"

"I can see where you're coming from," began Harry. "It isn't close to the same situation but I've faced constant remarks belittling me in order to prop my cousin up. And rather straightforward digs insults too, not subtle or anything. It's natural to feel the way you do."

"Thank you," she said, staring at him. This time it was Daphne who didn't seem too eager to continue discussing the topic, though the mention of Harry's cousin did pique her curiosity. "There's a lot going on. Bastille Day is approaching too and I'm expected to participate in the celebrations."

"That doesn't sound awful, smile and wave, what else is there to it?"

"The French Ministry wishes to champion their 'rich tradition' of facing off and other pointless displays of magical grandeur. As the Envoy, I don't have a choice but to comply," she scowled.

"Are you any good with a wand," asked Harry after a moment's thought.

"That's offensive, Potter. I'm not bad, though I'm not sure I'd be able to live up to your lofty standards," she admitted.

"Well, if it's duelling or competitive displays, I'm sure I can help you. Don't worry, I'll try to take some time out."

"That's sweet of you," thanked Daphne. "And don't bother taking time out, we can go over it when I take you to Astoria's ball."

"No!"

"Use your brain, Potter. You saved my sister's life, saved her husband's entire family and are on speaking terms with my father. You'll be invited whether you like it or not. Now, would you rather spend the evening being accosted by dozens of fawning fans or enjoy my incomparable company instead?"

Harry considered it and nodded his agreement. "I was pulling your leg, I'd have tagged along without you asking," he teased.

"Don't push it or I'll ask someone else. It should be fun though, there will be Wizengamot members in attendance. After your latest escapade, I doubt they'll be overjoyed to see you."

"Oh, so your sister told you about that debacle, did she? Thank her from my side for her show of support, it was rather enjoyable."

"I will. Well, thanks for listening, I guess. I hope your investigation's coming along well too."

Harry chose to ignore the comment. There was a concerted effort on the Auror Office's behalf to keep the entire investigation close-knit and under wraps. He wondered how much she knew about what was going on.

"Anytime. I'll see you soon enough. Take care and don't get too worked up."

* * *

Harry climbed down the narrow staircase, leading down below Level Ten. The Archives were located on Level Eleven, a secret floor that was unknown to most of the Ministry employees.

He tapped his wand on the barricaded door and walked into the small chamber, nodding at Rose Rowle, who looked exhausted. The long table was littered with dusty sheets, files and documents, however, the papers in her hand appeared new.

"Good timing. The secondary team's report from the Monument incident came in. They've confirmed the casualties but there's some stuff here that doesn't make sense," she said, handing Harry the sheets.

Harry skimmed through the report. Nothing stood out at first until a line caught his eye and took him back to his interrogation of Flint. _"The bloke's barmy. He didn't come up here to escape, by the looks of it. We found him digging right over-"_

The man's last words. "We found him digging…"

"That's right, the report says two tombs on the summit were in the process of being dug open. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin."

He took a seat next to Rowle, his mind racing. Harry had encountered various acts of crime in his time as Head Auror but nobody had attempted to defile the tombs of the Monument yet.

The unexpected development had his nerves tingling. It suggested a new motive and further complexity. In the Wizarding World, bodies could be embalmed to stand the tests of time. Dumbledore's corpse was an example and it wasn't a treatment afforded to the poverty-stricken. Harry, however, had been insistent on giving the martyrs of the Battle of Hogwarts a proper send-off.

But why Remus and Tonks, he thought. Well, for starters, Tonks was young, in peak health, great physical shape and a Metamorphmagus.

Remus, on the other hand, was a curious choice. He was on the older side and ailing. The lycanthropy syndrome had taken its toll on him. But as a Werewolf, Lupin was powerful, with enhanced abilities and remarkable immunity to most magical spells.

Harry was familiar with all the fatalities of the Battle and the outline of a suspicion was beginning to form in his mind. "Fred, Colin, Snape, Lavender…" he counted, excluding Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters who hadn't been laid to rest within the Monument. As far as he remembered, most of them had been destroyed.

As an Auror, Tonks' fitness levels were top-notch. Remus' lycanthropy made him an intriguing physical specimen. He realised that Zacharias Smith had been digging up the two bodies with the best combination of physical and magical potential.

"But for what," he asked aloud, startling Rowle. Metamorphmagi and werewolves were amongst the rarest magical creatures one could find. Why was Smith trying to dig up their bodies?

"Magical creatures," he murmured.

Zacharias' rescuer, the hooded figure with no magical signature.

"Wait. No magical signature?"

Rose watched Harry talk to himself with a worried look on her sharp features. Suddenly, he froze and the colour drained from his face.

"No, it can't be. That's just a ridiculous tangent to follow," it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Sir, are you alright? Is something wrong," it was the most agitated she had seen him.

"I'm sorry, Rowle, you must think I'm going around the bend. Please bear with me, I think I need some time to myself. Do you mind continuing this later," he asked, trying his best to make the abrupt expulsion sound polite.

Rowle recognised a dismissal when she heard one. "Of course sir, let me know if you need something," and with another calculated glance at her distracted boss, she left the chamber.

Alone with his thoughts, Harry grabbed a large blank chart and waved his wand over it, etching words onto the parchment.

**Case Summary**

**10 kidnappings over 12 months - 4 victims dead, 6 rescued. Victims had their throats slit.**

**All involved kidnappers were killed. They all refused to let themselves be taken alive. Each subsequent kidnapping involved fewer perpetrators. Violators were linked to Dark families.**

**Andromeda Tonks murdered, throat slit. Stalked by Zacharias Smith a day before the murder. Cyrus Greengrass provides the lead.**

**Smith's house explodes, Muggle bomb kills Pucey, meant to kill me.**

**Smith resurfaces in Monument. Flint receives an anonymous tip-off to find and kill him. Smith found digging up Remus and Tonks.**

**Unknown figure with no aura rescues Smith, kills Flint with Wormtail's knife. Slits throats of witnesses.**

His summary complete, Harry leaned back and tried to connect the dots. There were multiple motives and he didn't know where to begin.

When the kidnappings were first assigned to him, there was nothing to suggest that the motive was anything more than financial gain. As the attempts were thwarted once Harry stepped in, the Office assumed that each new kidnapping case was fuelled by desperation for money.

Andromeda's murder was the first instance that didn't involve a monetary angle. It also made things personal. It was then that the motive had seemed to change, with Harry becoming the target. After Teddy's close escape, Harry had nearly been killed while investigating Smith's house, with a non-magical explosive, no less.

This was where things got sinister, noted Harry. Someone wanted to kill Smith, that much was clear, yet there was also an unknown person protecting the missing Hitwizard. The mystery figure did not appear to be capable of using magic but was in possession of Wormtail's notorious dagger. The defiling of the tombs gave Harry cause for worry. What was the motive now?

"Where's Daphne when you need her," he grumbled. For the first time in forever, Harry craved a smoke. Rubbing his tired eyes, he tried to shake himself out of his stupor and reached for the file containing the information on the kidnappings. Turning the pages, he arrived at the document that contained the names of the victims.

**Spudmore, Deverill, Ollerton, Alderton, Loxias, Cresswell, Hornby, Boot, Runcorn, Greengrass.**

Harry ruled out blood supremacy as a potential motive, for most of the victims belonged to pureblood families. In fact, there wasn't a single Muggle-born on the entire list. To reinforce the motive of monetary gain, all the families were successful and rich, with most of them running businesses across the country.

He'd already been over the list before and there was only a single 'pattern' that could be found. Astoria Greengrass aside, all the victims were either single children or the elder sibling. Now that he was familiar with Daphne, Harry once again wondered why the pattern had broken abruptly after nine consecutive cases. On the whole, though, it appeared the kidnappings were directed at maiming businesses by killing the immediate heir or heiress.

With no new leads, he glanced through the list of perpetrators who were killed over the course of the ten kidnappings. Yaxley, Carrow, Bullock, Nott, Scabior and Selwyn were the familiar family names while a significant number of individuals were from foreign lands, distant relatives or mercenaries in the mould of Scabior and his lot. A faint Death Eater angle but nothing concrete to pursue.

However, there was one notable family with a dark history that was missing from the list. With nothing to lose, Harry replaced the files, folded his handwritten summary and set out on a late-night visit.

* * *

The hour was late and the night miserable as the rain came crashing down on the Malfoy estate. As Severus Snape had done before him, Harry waved his wand arm and passed through the gate as though it were smoke.

His robes billowing in the storm and an Impervius charm holding the rain at bay, he made his way towards the enormous manor only to slow down as a lone figure came into sight, moving quickly through the rain.

"An unexpected pleasure to see you here, Astoria."

For a brief moment, she resembled a deer in the headlights, as her eyes widened in surprise. Like her sister, Astoria Malfoy was quick to adapt.

"Fancy seeing you here, Harry. Whatever you're here to investigate, Draco didn't do it," she joked.

He chuckled, more so at the fact that Astoria had no problem calling him by his name, something that Daphne still refused to do.

"I'm sure he didn't. My business is with Lucius tonight. I was under the impression Draco had moved into Greengrass Manor?"

"Daphne's been running her mouth, I see. Well, not exactly, we move between both houses. Draco's at my place, actually. I was here to meet Lucius. We've been working on my basic magical control"

"Bloody hell, everyone's interested in duelling these days, you'd think there was another War coming. A bit too late to sharpen the basics, don't you think?"

"I'm sure you don't mind walking me to the gate. My sister tells me you're a complete gentleman. Seeing is believing."

Yes, Daphne had been running her mouth, thought Harry. Nonetheless, he took Astoria's side, the willowy witch matching him stride for stride.

"I was a terrible student at school," she revealed. "It wasn't a lack of talent, well, that's what my father says but more to do with my lack of focus. My time at Hogwarts wasn't easy."

As she spoke, Harry observed the woman's demeanour. While Daphne projected an easy, outgoing facade, there still were moments when the cool, dismissive witch underneath shone through. Astoria's confident front, however, was legitimate. She carried herself with the air of carelessness that was the trademark of the rich and wealthy. Almost like Draco but nicer, thought Harry.

"That's in the past though, isn't it? Congratulations, by the way. I heard the good news."

She grinned, although in the darkness it could have passed for a sneer. "Unbelievable. She's already called you and hasn't bothered calling me yet. What have you done to Daphne, she hasn't been like this about anyone since she was fifteen!"

"Fifteen? Let me guess, Blaise Zabini?"

"You're a sharp one, I'll give you that. I wasn't taking any names because it isn't my place or secret to tell, but oh well. There's a certain irony to this, don't you agree? Daphne dating the man who killed her ex-boyfriend."

"You know, I'd never thought of it that way before and it's not a nice thought either. We aren't dating though."

"She's bringing you to my ball, isn't she," asked Astoria and laughed as he nodded in response. "Of course you're dating then, you just haven't put a label on it yet. Quite mature of the two of you, I'm impressed."

Harry opened his mouth to pursue the previous avenue but she cut him off. "Relax, Harry. Stop worrying, I can see it on your face. I can't talk too much about things that have to do with my sister, she'll tell you herself when she feels it's the right time to do so. But Blaise was just an infatuation. It only lasted a couple of months and ended in a bad, bad way. Daphne has no love for Death Eaters. I remember her being delighted that he was gone."

"I never really saw much of her at Hogwarts at all," he admitted. "Didn't want anything to do with Slytherin, a foolish mindset. Was he the reason for her hatred of Death Eaters?"

Astoria stared at him, her eyes narrowed and flat. For a second, Harry feared she knew what he was playing at. He raised his eyebrows in a gesture of confusion and shrugged, "What?"

"You're Harry Potter, the Head Auror. How do you not know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, though he had an idea of what was coming.

Astoria drew a deep breath. "My mother was a Death Eater, Harry. One of the best, too. Bellatrix and she were a nice little one-two punch."

His suspicions were confirmed. The rumours had always been there but Cyrus had done a thorough job of limiting their spread. As Kingsley had mentioned, nobody knew the entire story.

"I have no memories of my mother. She died when I was a baby. Daphne was only two at the time."

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be. We never knew her. Some say she died in Azkaban. My father has never spoken about it. Our childhood was not a happy one, Harry. Money can't buy you a mother's love, though I'm sure you know all about that."

"Has Daphne told you about the Battle of Hogwarts," she asked, breaking the introspective silence.

Harry shook his head. "That isn't surprising. If she ever does, you let me know, then I'll be certain this is for real. What do you think of her?"

Astoria Malfoy was too sharp for Harry's liking. Perhaps it was just the dark and the downpour but Harry could see the same dangerous undercurrent that he saw in Daphne.

"She's different," he replied after struggling to find the right words.

"That she is," agreed Astoria. "I have a feeling you've figured her out. And if she trusts you implicitly then she sees something in you too. I must ask you to avoid hurting her. Daphne's been through enough for a lifetime."

"I'm grateful for her trust," replied Harry, making no assurances.

"Thanks for hearing me out. Give Daphne some time, Harry, she'll open up when she's ready," she concluded and held her arm out.

Resisting the temptation to laugh, Harry obliged and bowed, watching her depart through the gate.

* * *

After everything they had been through, sitting face to face with Lucius Malfoy was surreal, even for Harry. From the graveyard of Little Hangleton to Malfoy Manor, their journey had been nothing short of extraordinary.

While his face wasn't hidden by a mask any longer, Lucius' grey eyes had lost none of their potency. Narcissa sat beside him and the silence in the grand hall stretched on, heavy but not awkward.

Malfoy Manor was a prison. Beautiful, but a prison nonetheless. After Harry's victory, the reinstated Ministry, as well as the public, had pushed hard to convict the Malfoys. After two decades of blackmail, threats, racist degradation and oppression at Lucius' hands, it was hardly surprising.

To the surprise of many, Harry was merciful. To their credit, the Malfoys were cooperative and contributed to the quick conviction of most of the remaining Death Eaters.

Rather than seize their assets or condemn them to Azkaban, Harry imposed a single condition on the family. They could never leave the confines of the Malfoy estates, nor could they entertain visitors. Narcissa and Lucius were allowed one single day every year when they could choose to venture out of their home. Typically, they chose to attend the annual Anniversary Celebrations, as a sign of penance and apology.

Draco was subject to the terms too, till his marriage to Astoria Greengrass resulted in Kingsley reconsidering and relaxing the restrictions by the bare minimum. Draco could choose to accompany his wife but only on special occasions and rare exceptions.

In hindsight, Harry did not regret his decision. The Malfoy family name was ruined forever, disgraced beyond redemption. There was no point in confiscating their wealth simply because they could do nothing with it. Nobody in the country wished to associate with them and they were locked away within reaching distance of everything they once held dear yet forever forbidden to seize it.

Indeed, until the recent union between the Malfoy and Greengrass families, Draco and his parents were a forgotten afterthought.

"The hour is late, Potter," began Lucius, looking as happy to see Harry as one would expect of a former Death Eater. "I fail to see why this visit couldn't have waited until the morning."

"I apologise for the intrusion, Lucius. As you might have guessed, I require information and it won't take long."

"Do not think me ungrateful but has it not crossed your mind that I have told you all that I know? I am not a bottomless pit of secrets."

"I suggest you try your best here, it's about your sister-in-law, after all," he replied, nodding at the stoic Narcissa.

She reached for Lucius' arm and smiled, "My late sister and I were close in our childhood. Tell me, what do you want to know?"

"Did Voldemort ever enlist the help of muggles? Assassins or strategists?"

"You already know the answer to that," smirked Lucius. "The Dark Lord would never stoop to the level of asking a muggle-born for aid."

"I thought as much. I'm curious about the First War and the earlier days, though. Was there any muggle who was familiar with his plans and ideals?"

"No, not that I am aware of. I recall Antonin Dolohov once suggesting an experiment with 'poison gas'. Apparently, it has the potential to kill large numbers of people in no time at all."

"It was an astute idea. The Wizarding population is woefully ignorant of muggle technology and it's potential," Harry agreed.

Lucius allowed himself a small laugh, the smile refusing to reach the hard, grey eyes. "You and the Dark Lord are more alike than you know, Potter. When I met him for the first time, he was an intelligent and powerful man who everyone gravitated towards. Most of us were certain we were looking at a future Minister for Magic."

"How things change," replied Harry drily.

"He did become deranged as time went by. If not for my wealth and safehouses, I believe he would have been content to let me rot in Azkaban, after our...ah, skirmish at the Department of Mysteries."

The fateful night was the beginning of the end for the Malfoy family, as Sirius and Harry thwarted Lucius' attempts to recover the Prophecy and forced Voldemort to break cover and reveal himself.

"Don't forget the Diary, I can vouch for his anger about that mishap," jabbed Harry, causing the man to wince. "I know I've asked this before but can you think of any Death Eater who may have survived the purge?"

"Not a chance, you're a thorough man or at least that's what Draco tells me. From what little news I've received, I believe you've caught or killed them all."

He appeared to consider continuing but held himself, throwing a nervous look at his wife beside him.

"Keep talking, Lucius. What do you know?"

Their eyes met and that moment Lucius knew there was no point lying to the man in front of him.

The blonde man extracted his hand from his wife's grasp and bowed his head before speaking.

"Twelve months ago, I received an unsigned letter. It arrived in the middle of the night with an unremarkable owl. Direct and to the point, it offered me the chance to rebuild my life and earn back my reputation if I agreed to do the writer's bidding. I was asked to respond with a simple yes or no. There were no further details."

Narcissa's sharp intake of breath and sickly, forced smile suggested Lucius had withheld the information from his family too.

"I burnt it that very night and never thought of it again. I'm sorry, dear but I had to get it out of my mind. Draco doesn't know of it either."

"The timing of this letter is curious," remarked Harry. "So whoever wrote it didn't reveal their plans but clearly had something up their sleeve to get you out of this confinement."

"Which is why I find your question about surviving Death Eaters interesting," Lucius admitted. "In a hypothetical situation, I believe the easiest way to get me out of here would be to fake my death. However, this person who tried to recruit me must be misinformed. I don't even have a wand anymore and I haven't used magic since the War."

"The kidnapping involving Astoria was the latest in a series of ten incidents that began a year ago. The perpetrators were far removed cousins, uncles and paid mercenaries with Death Eater links. There is no doubt in my mind that this unknown person meant to recruit you for the same jobs."

"Why didn't you tell me, Lucius," cut in Narcissa, unable to hold her temper any longer.

"You and Draco would have insisted on reporting it. I'm sorry, Potter, but I've had enough of random raids on my house and my family name being ripped apart in the papers. I can assure you, I had nothing to do with these incidents."

"Rest easy, I don't suspect you or any of your family. A couple of things and we're done. Of all the Death Eaters, who did Pettigrew spend the most time with?"

"Wormtail?" Lucius asked, a distasteful sneer on his face. "Wormtail had no friends or partners. He wasn't assigned to any raids or scouting duty or any important missions. The Dark Lord assigned Wormtaill to different safe houses for maintenance and looking after prisoners. I can't think of a single person he was particularly close to."

Harry saved the most important question for the last. "Very well. I'll leave you with this. What were the dealings between the Greengrass family and Voldemort?"

"I was wondering when you'd broach the subject, Harry," poked Narcissa with a knowing smirk. "You're going to turn some heads when the news gets out."

"An interesting choice," her husband agreed. "Where do we begin? Elena Greengrass was one of us. Narcissa never cared much for her but Bellatrix did."

"Supremely talented but arrogant beyond measure," Narcissa complained, failing to see the irony in the statement.

"She married Cyrus behind the Dark Lord's back. Apparently, the poor man didn't even know of her true status. She was a feared lieutenant, with a cruel streak."

"They say her marriage changed her," continued Narcissa, picking off where her husband left. "She wasn't a regular at meetings and took part in the occasional raid, leading the forces. As you can imagine, it led to jealousy festering amongst the rest of the Dark Lord's servants."

"Not much is known about her actions in the year leading to the Dark Lord's fall. Even less is known about her death," revealed Lucius. "The last I remember, she had a huge disagreement with Bellatrix, right around the time when the Dark Lord disappeared. I never saw her again. Some say Bellatrix killed her. Others claim she died in Azkaban."

"No evidence of a trial, although with Barty Crouch running the show, that wasn't a surprise," she finished.

"Was a body ever found," asked Harry, processing the new information.

"There were rumours, yes. No conclusive evidence. If you ask me, she's dead. Elena could torture grandparents and the elderly for hours but she wouldn't touch children. Simply adored them. Funny, isn't it? She wouldn't abandon her children and go into hiding."

"What about during the Second War? The Auror Office is aware of Cyrus Greengrass' role as an informant to Voldemort."

Narcissa shook his head in disapproval, "Cyrus was as secretive as they come. Reminds me of Severus. I'm surprised he survived the War. Not many people play both sides and live to tell the tale, especially after crossing the Dark Lord."

"Now that you mention it," interjected Lucius, a frown on his face. "I recall the Dark Lord meeting with Cyrus Greengrass in person. Not once but twice. The first time was shortly after his return at Little Hangleton. He sought Cyrus out at Greengrass Manor. The Dark Lord was furious and didn't wish anyone to accompany him. The second time was right before the mishap at the Department of Mysteries. Wormtail and Selwyn were with him if I'm not mistaken."

Harry was grateful for the Malfoys cooperation. Family was important to them and Harry's decision to allow them to maintain that tight-knit closeness made them view him in a favourable light.

As Harry stood to take his leave, Lucius gave him a last piece of advice. "Don't waste your time pursuing Cyrus. The Ministry has been keeping a close eye on him for decades. The man does not slip up. As far as I know, he hasn't actually broken any law either."

"Harry? Do kill whoever murdered my sister, won't you," added Narcissa conversationally. "And good luck with Daphne. You'll need it."

On that ominous note and a last condescending smirk, she shut the door behind his retreating figure.

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**A/N: Hope everyone's doing well. Thanks for reading and see you in a couple of weeks. No real point of inserting a case summary except to refresh everyone's memory with all thats been going on. Enjoy and stay safe!**

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